“He’s no Royal Flush,” de Jersey said, returning Fleming’s binoculars to him.
“Few are” came the reply as they turned to walk back to the stables. De Jersey excused himself, asking Fleming to tell Mickey he’d ridden a good race.
De Jersey left the Brighton track at four o’clock and did not relax until he was alone. He gave his pocket an involuntary pat and felt the object cushioned against his leg. He knew the exact weight was 105.6 carats, but it had felt even heavier when he had prized it out of the crown. If they lost the bulk of the jewels he had dropped for Dulay, he would still retain the prize Koh-i-noor Diamond.
The City of London learned that the most daring robbery in history had been pulled off through numerous news flashes that interrupted TV programming for that day. The Evening Standard ran the story on the front page, and the police were stunned at the audacity of the raiders. They gave away little about the robbery, but Maureen was pictured on the front page dressed as Her Majesty with a fake crown and a frozen smile. She was currently under sedation and unable to speak coherently. Her husband, she had been told, was safe if badly shaken. Though she was hysterical, she had been able to tell the police how she had been kidnapped and her husband’s life threatened. She had also given a description of the man she said headed the robbery. Although she had never heard his name, she described de Jersey as a “military kind of man.” He was in his mid-fifties, she said, had red hair and a mustache, and was very tall.
The public marveled at the robbery, but most were confident that the culprits would be caught. The Metropolitan Police Special Branch and the Army announced that they would join forces to recover the jewels. Operation Crown began immediately.
Quickly the police processed the section of the security film that had been recorded just moments before Hall had forced the guard to pull the plugs. The team were caught on film entering the hallway and heading toward the reception. But when they got the film back from the labs they saw that there was a clear shot of Maureen but no single frame in which her lady-in-waiting could be seen because of the large hat the woman had worn. They could see only a partial profile of Driscoll and a shoulder and body shot of de Jersey, his face obscured by the only member of the team caught fully on camera. Lord Henry Westbrook was shown smiling and talking before the screen went blank. It was only a few hours before he was identified by a police officer who had been involved in his fraud case.
At a press conference, reporters were informed that progress had been made. There was a warrant out for the arrest of Lord Henry Westbrook. Meanwhile the staff at the safe house were all asked for detailed descriptions of the men and the woman involved in the heist. Their descriptions of Pamela varied, so the police were relying on Maureen for details. She was still sedated and in hospital, her husband at her side. He gave a description of the driver of the Mercedes that had picked up his wife. He could offer only vague details of the man’s companion.
No one could provide a decent description of the two bikers as their attention had been focused on the “Queen.” The sketches depicting the tall man hardly seen on the videotapes were confusing. All agreed that he had red hair and a mustache, but none could give a clear description of his face. Saunders maintained that this man was the leader. His voice was cultured, and he had a military manner. He had been the first to leave the vault.
A massive search for the cars was mounted, and witnesses were asked to come forward if they had seen the convoy driving toward the safe house, but no one called.
Christina was selecting what to wear for her daughters’ school play when the phone rang. She pursed her lips, sure it would be her husband making some excuse.
But it was Helen Lyons. “Have you been able to contact Sylvia yet?” she asked.
“I’ve called her home and her office, who told me she’s taking some time off in America. I told you this last time we spoke. I got no reply from her flat, so she must still be away.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m really worried about my money situation. I’m not broke, but David always took care of all our finances.”
“He certainly took care of ours,” Christina snapped. “I’ve called your sister for you, and I don’t want to get involved any further. I’m sorry, we have money problems too, thanks to your husband’s misappropriation of our finances. The more I discover about how much David stole from us, the more I find these calls tedious. Now, I really have to go, please don’t call me again!”
She replaced the receiver, then felt dreadful. She knew she was taking out her own anxiety on the poor woman—but what she had said to her was true.
Just after three she drove away from the estate to do some shopping.
De Jersey got home at five o’clock. He stashed the wig and mustache in a briefcase and hurried toward the house. He seemed calm and collected, but his adrenaline was still pumping. When Christina returned from her shopping, he had bathed and changed, and was in the kitchen.
“You’re back,” she said.
“I am, my darling. We have a date tonight, don’t we?”
“The girls’ play, yes. I thought, with all your problems, you might have forgotten it.” She walked past him to unpack the groceries.
He turned, surprised at her tone. “You make it sound as if I’m in the doghouse,” he said.
“You are, if you must know.” She joined him at the table. “I might as well tell you, because you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Find out what?”
“I was in your study and broke …” She paused. She looked at him, frowning, then leaned forward and rubbed his sideburns. “You’ve got glue or something stuck to your face.”
He backed away. “It’s shaving lotion. Go on, what have you broken?”
“I haven’t broken anything,” she said petulantly, then faced him angrily. “Please stop treating me like a child. I broke into your desk drawers.”
He hesitated a moment. “Really? And why did you do that?”
Christina chewed her lip, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know—no, I do. I’m sick of your lies. I just wanted to know what was going on.”
“When was this?”
“Does it really matter? Anyway, what I found upset me. I wanted to discuss it with you face-to-face. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you when you called. Why didn’t you tell me, for God’s sake? If you can’t be honest with me after all these years … You’re virtually bankrupt!” Christina said.
De Jersey relaxed a little. “Why don’t we go and sit in the drawing room and you can tell me about it.”
“You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll make some tea.” He nodded and walked out.
She took a deep breath. Her nerves were in shreds, but she was determined not to let him off the hook this time.
De Jersey listened as Christina detailed her discoveries. “I don’t understand why you would need fake passports.”
“I’ve been using aliases off and on for years. It’s been a sort of ploy to allow me to move in and out of the horse auctions without my real name attached.”
“That can’t be the reason,” she said angrily. “You even had passports for me and the girls, all in false names. There are recent stamps in one passport to New York. You never told me you’d been to New York. What’s going on?”
“I didn’t know I’d be going there myself, and I got the passports for you and the girls just in case you accompanied me on one of these undercover buying trips. You know I hate being apart from you. That’s the only reason.”
“So what were you doing in New York?”
De Jersey decided to come partially clean. “I went to see the man who ruined me. I didn’t want it to get out that I had.”
“Why not?”
“He used me, Christina. As you know, he let his company go belly up and consequently did the same to my whole life.”
“So you went to see him?”
“Yes, but I used a different name because I didn’t want to alarm him or forewarn him.
Turned out he still had some of my money invested in some properties out there. He was a cheap con man. I caught him just about to skip the country for South America. He got scared I’d get the cops on to him, so he coughed up. Not all of it, just a fraction, really, but enough to keep my head above water for a while.”
“Does Sylvia know?”
“No. If I’d told her I would have had to pay her off, and then the other creditors would be hounding me for their cut too. This way, I got some of my losses back and Moreno took off, I hope never to be seen again.” He shrugged.
“So how are things now, financially?” she asked.
“Well, not good, but they’re a hell of a lot better with Moreno’s cash. At least I’m not forced to sell this place, which I would have been if I hadn’t got to the bastard.”
“Did you have to do it illegally?”
“Of course. I had to carry the money back into England in a suitcase, which is another reason I thanked God I’d used a false name. It was all done to protect us. Legal or not, I did it, but who is Moreno going to cry to? Not the police. He’s the criminal, not me. He committed a massive fraud that bankrupted a lot of people. I know I’ve told you a few lies, but darling, I had to do this on the spur of the moment. I didn’t have any time to waste, and the fewer people who knew of my intentions the better.”
“On the spur of the moment? Do you think I’m stupid? Some of the dates on the passports go back years. And who is this Michael Shaughnessy character?”
“Well, having a fake identity worked once, so I did it a few times. As I said, it was to protect myself. You buy horses in Ireland and it’s all over the Racing News! The fewer people know what I’m doing the better.”
“But I’m your wife!”
“And if I hadn’t pulled it off, you’d have been run through the mill with me. I was only trying to protect you.”
“Treat me like an idiot, more like,” she snapped.
“If that’s what you call protection, then yes. I didn’t want to involve you in case it went wrong. I might have been arrested at Heathrow with the cash. Fortunately I wasn’t, so there was no harm done. I also couldn’t put the cash into a bank because I’d be hauled up for taxes. But we’re not bankrupt yet, my darling, so as I said, no harm done.”
“There is, though.” He frowned at her. “You’ve made me feel inadequate and helpless. You were in trouble when we went to Monaco, but you never discussed it with me and instead bought me expensive gifts as if nothing was wrong, when all the time you were in dire trouble. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Loved?” He laughed, but she turned away angrily.
“No, foolish. But it is still not making sense to me. For instance, you’ve sold Bandit Queen, and Fleming thinks she’s been bought by this Michael Shaughnessy, which is the name on one of your passports. But that doesn’t make sense because it’s really you, isn’t it? The passport had your photograph in it.”
“Correct. It’s simple. If I went bankrupt, Bandit Queen would have been part and parcel of the debts. This way I still own her.”
“But she was mine! You bought her for me!”
“Well, that’s true, but she still is in a way.” He got up, put his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “You’ve had so much to deal with recently, with your mother’s death. I just didn’t want to worry you. And”—he looked at his watch—“if we don’t get a move on, we’ll both be in the doghouse because we’ll be late for the girls’ production.”
She nodded and kissed him, then touched his face. “That is such a weird smell, like glue. Next you’ll tell me you’re really as bald as a coot and you’re wearing a wig.” He grinned, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her out of the room. The phone rang, and she shrieked, “Don’t answer it! It’ll be Helen Lyons.”
He carried her up the stairs and set her down midway. His knee was throbbing. The phone rang and rang. He wanted to answer it in case it concerned him, but Christina caught his hand.
“She’s called every other day. She’s trying to get me to contact her sister for her.”
“Why?” He looked over the banister rail to the hall table below, where the phone still rang.
“Because when she found out David and Sylvia were having an affair, she said she was never going to speak to her again. She asked me to call her on her behalf. Did you know about it?”
“What?”
“That Sylvia was seeing David, for years apparently.”
“Good God! No, of course I didn’t. What did she want? Is it to do with David or what?”
“It’s the insurance money. Apparently Sylvia was handling all the claims, and now Helen is running short of cash.”
The phone had stopped ringing.
“Did you speak to Sylvia?”
“No. I even called her office, but they said she was away. New York, I think. But when Helen called again, just before you got home, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I told her that, considering what David had done to us, she could damned well call Sylvia herself!”
Christina’s mood changed. “I have felt very lonely while you’ve been away, Edward.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t have any choice.” He stroked her face and kissed her gently.
“But is everything all right? I mean, truthfully. Please, no more lies. I hated prizing open the drawers like some demented, jealous woman, and then when it all became clear how badly off we are financially, I almost hated you for being so dishonest with me.”
“The truth is that we’re out of trouble now, and with the expectation I have for Royal Flush … If he wins the Derby, it’ll put this place on the map. He’ll be worth millions.” He kissed her again. “We’re almost in the clear, sweetheart.”
“And you didn’t have to remortgage the farm?”
“Nope. I got away without having to do that by the skin of my teeth. We’re safe.”
She leaned against him as they continued up the stairs. “Things have to change between us,” she said quietly. “From now on, don’t lie to me anymore.”
“I won’t. Hell, you might take a screwdriver to me next, never mind my desk!” He drew her close to him, and they walked up to their bedroom. He gave silent thanks that he had taken Philip Simmons’s passport with him to Paris. If he hadn’t, Christina would have found it with the others.
They left for their daughters’ school an hour later and sat through a lengthy production of The Taming of the Shrew. Both girls were delighted that their father was there, but Christina did not tell them he had slept through most of the last act. They had wine and cheese with the other parents, then left. They listened to classical music on the car stereo rather than the news, and it was almost one in the morning by the time they reached home.
De Jersey was so exhausted he went straight to bed and fell into a deep sleep. Christina lay next to him, her eyes wide open, wondering how many other lies her husband had told her. She was so naïve, she realized, and this was the first time she had ever questioned their relationship or his past. She had never felt their age difference until now and wondered what he had done in the years before he met her. She looked at him now, sleeping like a baby, and felt intensely irritated. They hardly made love anymore, and he had not even kissed her good night. She flopped back on her pillow, the seeds of discontent continuing to grow.
Driscoll sat in the TV room with a large gin and tonic. He had been watching the news flashes, partly in amusement and partly in denial. They were not in the clear by any means. The biggest plus was that neither he nor Wilcox had been in trouble with the law before, so even if Maureen could describe them, she could look at mug shots until the cows came home: they were not in the books. The news flashes described the missing vehicles, and requests for information were repeated with numbers to call if anyone had information. A warrant had been issued for Westbrook’s arrest. A parade of debs and his associates were interviewed on the news, telling tales of his womanizing and dealings in high society. His face was becoming as
familiar as Lord Lucan’s.
“What the hell were you doing all day?” Liz asked, setting down a bowl of raw carrots.
“Touting for business,” he said, then looked at her as she started to crunch a carrot.
“Christ, do you have to do that?” he asked.
“I’m on a diet.”
“Well, I’m hungry. I didn’t have time for lunch.”
She stood up. “What do you want?”
“Omelet. Nothing too rich. My gut’s giving me hell.”
“You should see another specialist. You want anything in the omelet or just plain?”
“Bit of cheese.”
“That’s fattening.”
“I don’t give a fuck!”
“Tony!”
“I’m sorry, but I’m trying to listen to the news.” Suddenly he felt gleeful. “You seen it?”
“I only just got in. I’ve been having a mud bath at the new hydro clinic.”
“Well, there’s been a big robbery.”
“Oh, I know about that. Sandra had the TV on. Do you want a side salad with your omelet?”
“Sure.” He watched her walk out of the room. He wondered how Sandra would feel if she knew her last customer’s husband had been in on the robbery of the Crown Jewels.
Shortly after Westbrook and Pamela arrived home, Pamela dyed her hair back to its usual auburn. Westbrook was on her sofa bed and continued to apologize for imposing on her, swearing that as soon as he recovered he’d make his own arrangements. He had a fake passport and cash to leave the country, but until he could stand up travel was out of the question. He watched the television all that day and night, but even the news flashes could not hold his attention and he dozed fitfully. Where on earth had they managed to get so many photographs of him, let alone of his so-called associates? He wondered where these close friends had been for the past year.
Wilcox arrived home in time for the twins’ birthday party, which he’d forgotten. It was a bit of a pain; all he wanted to do was relax and watch the news. But he blew up balloons and sat out with the kids as they ate sausages, eggs, and chips. He left the chaos for a while to go to the local video store. He returned, arms loaded with Mars bars, Smarties, cartoons, sci-fi films, and all the evening newspapers he could lay hands on. The headlines all told of the robbery, and everyone was talking about it, even in the video store. The public seemed to view it as sacrilege. Later in the evening he sneaked away to his bedroom to watch the late-night television news. The hunt for Westbrook was on, but as yet there seemed to be no clues as to the identity of the rest of the team. Nevertheless, they gave out descriptions based on what little they had to go on. Wilcox sighed with relief. He wanted to call Driscoll. He ached to hear how he was coping and became paranoid that the police had to be withholding evidence. He chopped up the last of his stash of cocaine, and Rika found him snorting it in the bathroom. They had a blistering row, which somehow eased his tension.
Royal Heist Page 36
