Royal Heist

by Lynda La Plante

  Driscoll and Wilcox were in the same boat as Pamela, albeit a more comfortable one. They both watched the news bulletins and read the papers from cover to cover. They had each watched The Crime Show with equal trepidation, their confidence dented. Their women put their bad moods down to financial pressures. Unlike de Jersey, Wilcox and Driscoll rarely left their homes. They felt more terrified with every phone call and knock on the door. The waiting was becoming unbearable, and eventually each decided independently that he had to flee the country.

  Driscoll went to Spain, telling Liz that he needed to secure the sale of their villa, and after a quick phone call, Wilcox agreed to join him. They were breaking the Colonel’s rules, but they were unable to deal with the pressure alone. Still, they resisted the urge to contact de Jersey.

  The latest developments had given Chief Superintendent Rodgers fresh energy, but by late afternoon on the day after he had interviewed Detective Sergeant Fuller, his temperature had risen again and he was forced to go home. The doctor insisted he spend at least two days in bed. The police press office assigned to the robbery now put out a statement saying that they had acquired vital new evidence and were confident arrests would soon be made. Rodgers warned, however, that not one of the three men’s names was to be divulged until they had more evidence. Above all, they didn’t want them tipped off. They knew that they were still in England from the statements taken by the young officer, but Rodgers made the mistake of delaying the requestioning of Wilcox, Driscoll, and de Jersey when he took to his sickbed.

  Although Liz Driscoll knew her husband was going to Spain, Rika had no idea that Wilcox was leaving. He put the twins in his car, saying he was taking them to stay with their mother for a few days, and never returned.

  De Jersey occupied himself with his horses. The friction between him and Christina had not eased and was a constant source of worry to him. It came to a head on the night of the television documentary. Christina was watching it in the bedroom, while he saw it in his study with brandy and a cigar. Halfway through he clenched the cigar in his teeth, switched off the television set, and got to his feet.

  Christina heard her husband leaving the house and watched him drive away in the Range Rover from the bedroom window. She waited for a full ten minutes, but he did not return, and by the time she went back to the program it was over. The constant references to Philip Simmons had terrified her because, although the man was described as having red hair and a mustache, it had also been suggested that this might be a disguise. The man they wished to question had either worn a wig or dyed his hair. Although the computerized pictures of Britain’s “Most Wanted Man” did not look like her husband, the description of his size, demeanor, and military bearing made her suspicious.

  Christina went into de Jersey’s office and closed the door. The room still smelled of his cigar, and the brandy glass was half full, as if he intended returning shortly. She went to his desk and tried the drawers. All had been fitted with new locks and handles. Christina was of two minds whether to force the locks again. Then she saw the keys on the desk. She opened the first drawer on the left side. It contained a few papers but nothing of importance. The next drawer contained veterinary and feed bills, and a stack of brochures for horse auctions in Ireland. The next had details of sales at Tattersalls, all of which she had already seen. She then turned to the right-hand side of the desk, opened the secret compartment, and removed everything, placing it on top of the desk. The envelope with the passports was no longer there. In its place was the last will and testament of Edward de Jersey. He had left his estate to Christina and their daughters. Also included were many donations to charities and detailed lists of personal mementos and monies to be paid to his staff. The will must have been drawn up a long time ago, not just because of the date but because she knew there was now no money for donations. She found nothing incriminating, except that he had removed the passports. Had he found a new hiding place for them?

  She relocked the drawers and replaced the keys on the desk. She was calmer now but still disturbed. She kept telling herself that she was being paranoid. As if she was on automatic pilot, though, she began to search her husband’s dressing room. She went first to the underwear drawers, then to his socks and the shelves containing his cashmere sweaters. She felt underneath them. She searched his jackets, his shoes and boots. It was a waste of time. She stood up in a rage and swiped at the hangers. Jackets fell noiselessly to the floor, and the ineffectiveness of the search made her scream with frustration.

  She returned to the bedroom, opening bedside cabinets and drawers, then threw herself on the floor to look under the bed. By now she did not care about covering her tracks and frantically searched everywhere, even the girls’ bedrooms. All she wanted was something, anything to stop the nagging fear that her husband was somehow involved in the robbery of the Crown Jewels.

  It was after twelve when Christina, exhausted, went downstairs to get a whiskey. She had looked just about everywhere, but as she passed the cloakroom, she paused. De Jersey’s riding caps and jackets were stacked near the rows of Wellingtons and boots. She picked up one after another, turning them upside down. Something was lodged in the toe of a muddy riding boot, hidden beneath a thick, rolled-up sock. As she took out the sock, her heart pounded. Resting against the wall, she withdrew an object wrapped in an old cloth, then sank slowly to the ground as she looked at the glittering stone: the Koh-i-noor Diamond. There was no denying it. She had found what she had been looking for.

  De Jersey returned at about one fifteen. He was carrying a black briefcase and entered silently. He went into his study and put the case beneath his desk. He looked down at the drawers, picked up the keys, and weighed them in his hand for a moment. Then he hurried to the cloakroom. He didn’t have to turn on the light to realize that the coats had been searched. He turned and made his way up the stairs. All the bedroom lights were on, and he prowled from room to room before entering his own bedroom. There was only a small bedside lamp on, and from the doorway he could see the disturbance.

  Christina was waiting in bed for him, a pillow behind her head. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “Did you find what you were looking for?” He came to stand at the end of the bed, his eyes boring into hers as he eased off one shoe, then the other, and kicked them aside.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. Christina turned away from him. He took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, then walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She could hear the shower being turned on, and off a little later, the clink of his toothbrush in the glass, and then his electric shaver buzzing. It was over fifteen minutes before he walked out wearing a white towel robe. In his bare feet, he crossed to his dressing room, glanced inside and saw the fallen clothes and coat hangers, then went to the dressing table.

  “You have been busy,” he said mockingly as he combed his wet hair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Then he turned.

  She wanted to hide from his eyes, and at first she couldn’t work out why she felt that way. Then it came to her. It was because she found him so sexually attractive, more than she had for a long time. His presence filled the darkened bedroom, and she was not afraid of him anymore.

  “We need to talk.” Her voice was surprisingly calm.

  “Not yet.” De Jersey pulled the duvet off her. Now her eyes met his and, contrary to her misgivings, she opened her arms as he knelt on the bed and moved toward her. He touched her, gently at first, kissing every part of her body before tearing off his robe and pulling her tightly into his arms. This time his kiss was harder and deeper, and she responded, moaning softly, as he began to make love to her, hard and fast, pinning her arms behind her head until they climaxed simultaneously. He rolled onto his side, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

  “Well, that’s made me feel better,” he said and reached to the bedside table to pour a glass of water. He gulped almost half, then offered the glass to her.

  She shook her head and drew th
e duvet around her naked body.

  “First, let me tell you that I love you, I always have,” he said, replacing the glass.

  “I don’t know you!” She had tears in her eyes.

  “No, I don’t think you do—well, not all of me.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she curled away from him. “But it’s too late now.”

  “What have you done?” she said, afraid.

  “So much, my darling, but like I said, it’s too late. It would take too long to explain.” He lifted his right arm. “Come here.”

  “No.”

  “Come here,” he said firmly and drew her into the curve of his body as if she were a child. “It’s safer if you know as little as possible. You already know too much, and I don’t know how you will be able to deal with knowing more.”

  “I found what you had hidden in the toe of your boot,” she said and leaned up on her elbow. “What is it?” He looked into her frightened face and smiled, but he did not answer her. She turned away. “I watched the program tonight, about the robbery.”

  “I know.”

  “Please tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”

  He said nothing, and she rummaged beneath her pillow, then withdrew the stone. “I could feel it, hard against my head, when you were fucking me,” she said, holding it tightly.

  He reached across, and she clenched her fist over it. “Give it to me,” he said.

  “No, I won’t. Not until you tell me what it is. Not until you tell me why you have it.”

  He leaned over and almost crushed her hand as he took the stone, then held it up to catch the light. It sparkled.

  “Mountain of Light,” he said softly, and his face was like a boy’s as he looked at the stone. “It is the most priceless diamond in the world.”

  “Why have you got it?” she said in awe.

  “Because I needed it.”

  “You have to return it.”

  “Do I?”

  “You can’t keep it.”

  “I can’t?”

  “No, you must be insane even to think that you can.”

  “Why is that?”

  She sat up angrily and looked at him. “It’s stolen.”

  He gave her a glance that chilled her. She moved away from him, and the fear she had felt earlier returned. At first it was fear for herself, but he had softened again and he reached out to her.

  “No, please don’t touch me. I don’t want you near me. I can’t deal with this.” She got up, reached for a robe, and wrapped it around her. “What did you have to do with Sylvia Hewitt’s death?”

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “But the police want to question this Philip Simmons, and I know it’s you. He was the last person to see her alive, that’s what they said on the program. Why would they say that if you were not involved?”

  “How do you know it’s me?” he asked, almost mockingly.

  “You fit the description.”

  “Along with how many thousands of other men?” he asked. “Besides, you know where I was on the day of the robbery. First at Brighton racetrack and then at the girls’ play. I couldn’t be in two places at once, sweetheart, could I?” He placed the diamond where he could see it. “I had nothing to do with Sylvia Hewitt’s death. At the time they are claiming she died, I was at my club, I even spoke to you from there. If you don’t believe me, ask the porter.”

  “So if you had nothing to do with her death, why do they want to speak to you?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe it’s connected to David Lyons. He topped himself, and it looks as if she did the same. He lost her savings as well as mine, and as I told you before, I didn’t get in touch with her because I had a good idea she was trying to hit me for money. On and on she went about hiring a private investigator, and as for this”—he nodded to the stone and turned back to her—“it’s a crystal replica I bought when we went to the Tower of London with your parents. I intended to give it to one of the girls. I carried it around in my pocket and forgot about it until I was going out riding, so I slipped it into one of my old boots.” He chuckled. “For God’s sake, darling, don’t tell me you thought I was involved in the Crown Jewels robbery. You can’t have thought that.” He chuckled again as she stood at the end of the bed and flushed. “Oh, my poor darling. What have you been doing all evening? Trying to find the rest of them?”

  “Not to begin with. I was looking for the passports you had. Where did you go tonight?”

  “For a drive. Then I parked the car and walked for a while. How long is this interrogation going to go on, Miss Marple?”

  He laughed, tossed the stone in the air, and caught it. The light from the diamond cut shafts across the room.

  “Give it to me,” she said and snatched it. She crossed to the dressing table mirror and slashed at it with the stone. When it cut into the glass, she began to tremble.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said softly, and he was no longer smiling.

  “Oh, God. Oh, my God,” she said, and he took a deep breath.

  “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart, but now that you do know I’m involved, I will have to take great care of you. I won’t let any harm come to you. I’ll have to work out just how I can keep you and the girls out of it.”

  “Will you go away?” she asked.

  “No. No need as yet, but now you know why I had the passports in your name and the girls’. We might have to do a moonlight flit. We’ll have to have a serious talk about what we should do, but right now I don’t think we have too much to worry about.”

  “How can you say that? If I recognized you, how long do you think it will be before someone else does?”

  “You are my wife, dearest.”

  She swallowed. His calm made her even more afraid.

  “Did you … I mean, did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “For God’s sake, the robbery.”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked casually to the door, tying his robe. “I’m going to put on some tea. Would you like some?”

  “No.” Her throat felt as if it was burning.

  “I’m starving. I think I’ll make a toasted cheese sandwich too. Maybe I can tempt you,” he called as he left the room.

  She remained huddled on the bed, listening to him moving around downstairs, and her head started to throb.

  De Jersey busied himself in the kitchen. He took some of Christina’s sleeping tablets from the pocket of his dressing gown, crushed them into powder, and layered some under the melting cheese, then put the rest into her tea.

  She was sitting up in bed when he returned with the tray, plus the brandy bottle, and he poured some into both their mugs as he sat cross-legged on the bed.

  “Can I tempt you?” he asked teasingly, and she shook her head, but her mouth felt so dry she picked up a mug and drank.

  She pulled a face at the tea, not liking the brandy he’d put in it, but he encouraged her to drink it. Then he started to eat a sandwich, and she took one too.

  “This might be our last meal together,” he joked.

  She turned away from him.

  “I’m teasing, you know that.”

  Christina turned back to him, and tears filled her eyes until she shook her head. “I am so frightened,” she whispered.

  He put aside the tray and took her in his arms. “Listen to me, everything is going to be all right, and now I can tell you the truth. You must have pieced it together anyway by now. I have plans. We’ll have to leave England. Are you listening?”

  She nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “I love you,” he said softly, and he made love to her again. He held her until he heard her breathing deeply. He lay beside her, gently stroking her hair until he was sure she wouldn’t wake. He tucked the duvet around her and checked that she had drunk most of the tea and eaten half of the sandwich. He reckoned that would be enough. He packed quickly, and put the diamond in his pocket.
He went downstairs to collect the briefcase. He left no note and didn’t look back as he let himself out of the kitchen door. He walked across the silent stable yard. It was three thirty in the morning, and no one was awake. He entered Royal Flush’s stable and cradled the horse’s head in his arms. The bond he felt with the great stallion crushed him, and he was almost in tears. “Good-bye, my son. Wherever I am, I’ll be watching you.”

  The sound of the helicopter woke a few of the lads, and one sat up swearing, but silence soon returned.

  Christina slept on throughout the next morning as trailers drew up at the estate and took away the horses. They had been bought by the billionaire Sheikh, and the jewel in his crown was Royal Flush.

  CHAPTER

  26

  The estate was in turmoil when it became clear that de Jersey had sold up, lock, stock, and barrel, but the staff were informed that they could continue to work for the Sheikh. The stable lads watched the great horse being led into the trailer. As always, he was kicking and biting. Even his blanket had been changed, to one that bore the colors of his new owner, who stood, smoking and inspecting his purchases, then walked around the estate with the shattered Donald Fleming.

  Christina slept until midday, unaware that the mansion too had been sold. When she awoke she felt as if a lead weight had been tied round her neck, and her fear returned. Looking out the window, she saw all the movement in the stable yard and presumed her husband must be exercising the horses. She showered, dressed, and went to the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. There she found out what had been happening. The new owner had left a courteous letter asking her to vacate the premises with her possessions and furnishings within a week. She also discovered the almost empty bottle of her sleeping tablets where de Jersey had left it along with the loaf of bread he had used to make their toasted cheese sandwiches.