‘Oh.’ What else was there to say? First one funeral, and then another, of a different sort. Jessica didn’t have much to look forward to, did she?
‘You heard that, right?’ DCI Courtauld said. ‘We’ve agreed to text and then meet? I don’t want to have to come down to the Isle of Wight and drag you off to a magistrates’ court.’
‘No,’ Jessica replied. ‘I understand. If I don’t text or call, I’ve really had it.’
‘Perfect. Take care of yourself.’
The relatives and friends began arriving, and Jessica was soon tired of receiving all of the heartfelt condolences. Dad had been ill, and his quality of life diminished, but it was unfair and incongruent that he’d conducted a brilliant, successful life, only to end up dead under a pier in his pyjamas. It was the image of him, floating there face down; the thought of it, that was difficult to bear. And obviously, it was the same for her mother. It was one thing to lose a loved one to a disease, quite another to have the loss turned into a circus. There was a police investigation – questions of Mum, of Jessica, of how he got to the pier – and then there was the problems organising the funeral, with the autopsy still not scheduled thanks to a shortage of morticians.
Ronald had not even bothered to call – let alone offer to come to the funeral. According to Elisa, we hadn’t checked on the kids either, let alone come to pick them up. Rachel had cried every single time Jessica had called her – and the only reason she would reveal is that she failed a Math test. Although Elise insisted the little girl seemed happy enough, Jessica was fearful that something would happen to Rachel that no one expected – just like before with the fall from the school roof. Add that to the impending requirements placed on her by Gerry Courtauld and the police, and Jessica could draw only a single conclusion from her life at present.
It was a mess.
An irredeemable, revolting mess.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CAREFUL TO KEEP HER side of the bargain this time, Jessica texted then met with the DCI just over a week later. She hadn’t spoken to the BIBs, but Elise relayed the information that Rachel had duly informed all her classmates that her ‘pop’ had died, so it was unlikely they were suspicious of her absence and the lack of ‘bootie’ she’d managed to snare for the Club.
They were in Clawson Starbucks, which seemed to have become a mid-morning crèche; five toddlers were conducting sprint races along the length of the café, and prams were blocking every other walkway.
‘Good choice,’ Jessica mumbled, hoping that the mums weren’t from Berry Street Primary or worse, in Rachel’s year and thereby friendly with the BIBs.
‘It is, actually. Good cover. Who’d notice us here?’
She remained unconvinced. They were the only ones not screaming, and their table wasn’t covered in spilt Frappuccinos. They stood out. ‘If you say so.’
He bought her a latte and a sandwich and told her to eat, because she looked ‘peeky’.
‘I’m a size 12; you’d hardly call that malnourished. There’s plenty in reserve.’
‘You need to eat. I take it you don’t get much support at home?’
This seemed to be DCI Courtauld’s tactic: a little sweet talk to relax her – and then, follow with the sorry truth of her situation. Jessica didn’t feel comfortable talking about Ronald with the policeman – even if speaking with Gerry seemed more like a discussion with a friend than a negotiation to keep her out of jail.
‘We’ve been following your friends about, you know.’
They’re not my friends, she wanted to say.
‘And they are real professionals. We estimated that in total they’ve nicked about five grands’ worth in a week or two. And that’s not counting the car they pinched for parts.’
Jessica wondered idly who’d taken on the car. Probably Rita – she was the only one who could pull off that kind of stunt.
‘I hope they don’t see you lot tracking them and put two and two together. There’s no point in my helping you if they rumble me, is there?’
‘Trust me, they don’t realise we’re onto them. Even when we nabbed the wrecker who took possession of the car, it didn’t seem to register as a problem. Sure, the wrecker was too freaked out at all the other illegal gear he had on site to think twice about whether your Club had anything to do with his arrest. And all four of your accomplices were back out in London the next day, shoving half of Oxford Street into their handbags.’
‘Really?’ Jessica shivered at the thought of the BIBs parading around in their disguises, not realising they were being tailed.
That could have been me.
Was me.
‘So, you ready to hear what we’ve come up with?’
No. ‘Sure, why not?’ Jessica bit into the sandwich. It tasted good. Fresh.
The plan, such as it was, was for Gerry to pose as a new client and offer a huge incentive for a group task. ‘We just need to know how to approach them.’
‘Online,’ Jessica said.
‘Pardon?’
‘They get their clients online – never meet them.’
‘Even better. We can contact them anonymously.’
Pretty easy so far, and Jessica was grateful for the online part – less chance of her getting the blame. ‘And what exactly is this incentive?’
‘Diamonds. I am going to say that in return for the diamonds temporarily held at a factory just outside Reading, I will pay one million pounds. I’ll say the place is heavily guarded so it’s a job for at least three. And we’ll put a time limit of a day – say the diamonds will be couriered elsewhere almost immediately – so there is only a small window of opportunity. That gets the job done, and gives us a cap on our resource expenditure,’ the DCI explained.’
‘They might not bite – they always work alone, remember? It’s one of the main rules.’
‘Then you have to convince them that it looks too dangerous for one. Make like you are trying to talk them out of it; get them to think that the idea to go ahead was theirs; that you’re completely against it.’
Won’t be hard, given that I am. ‘They’ll expect the money up front.’
‘We can make it look as if it is in the account.’
That was worrying. ‘You can?’
‘Police trickery. Trust me, it is possible.’
‘Isn’t that entrapment or something?’
‘They do offer the service online – they leave themselves open to getting caught, don’t they? It’s not as if we are seducing them into the idea – there’s a whole website dedicated to it.’
Suddenly his phone rang and he relayed the information of the client site. After a brief conversation, he said: ‘They’ve found it, Now, all we need from you in the pin number to access to the site.’
‘The what?’
‘Apparently there is a password to access the order page.’
‘They haven’t given it to me.’
‘Well, you’d better ask.’
This was becoming really scary. How on earth could she get that password without the BIBs becoming suspicious? Jessica would have to move planets to get Rachel and Paul away from Chelsea if her betrayal was discovered.
‘I’ll try Frieda,’ she said finally. The helpful Norwegian might not even twig there was something amiss. Unlike Rita or Chelsea, who would immediately become suspicious and attempt to bury Jessica in concrete or something. Hailey didn’t know what day it was, but knew enough to tell Chelsea if the newbie was asking for the online code. Once again there was that twinge of guilt at placing the women in the hands of the law. Okay, they all knew they might be caught one day, but each of them was wounded in some way, especially Chelsea. Being a battered wife who stole to cover her pain wasn’t really the type of person Gerry Courtauld should be focussing on, was it?
‘Unfortunately, you’ll need to do more than try. We need your help.’ His tone was gentle, and their eyes accidently met. A tiny knot curled up in her stomach. Must be all the stress, she told herself, looking away.
Jessica was struck by how vested the DCI was in his work. Just like Ronald. Well, not exactly like Ronald – he’d at least bought her a coffee.
The waiter, collecting the empty cups, broke the connection, and when he was gone, Gerry was back to business. ‘Look, Jessica, this isn’t your choice. You are helping out because you got caught. I might have given you some slack because of your father’s death, but you need to understand that I must answer to people above me. I am employed by the Met police. I have a duty and a job to do.’
‘It’s your job to ruin people’s lives?’
‘I think your little Club did that all on its own, don’t you?’ The green eyes briefly met hers again before he shook his head and looked away.
He was right and she knew it. The women in the Club understood exactly what they were doing. They believed they were invincible.
But what about Chelsea, her husband will surely kill her?
‘So when are you planning to contact them?’
Gerry picked up his BlackBerry and quickly read a text. ‘As soon as you get us the code. My partner says we might have a lead ourselves, from about a year ago, but we’re not sure if the code changes periodically, so it’s best that you give us the current information.’
‘Partner? How come he isn’t here with you?’
‘She, actually. And she is wheelchair bound, so, and no pun intended, I do the leg work.’
‘Oh.’
And that was it. He finished his coffee, told her to stay cool but get the information they needed. ‘When they mention the diamonds, don’t be eager,’ he warned. ‘Act normal.’
‘Frightened and pathetic then? Got it?’
‘Come on, you’re not pathetic, and everyone is scared now and then. Even me.’
As he brushed off some debris that had fallen on his trousers from the table, Jessica admired his trim physique. Firm and muscular – unlike Ronald, who was slight and wiry with a rapidly developing pot-belly. As if reading her mind, he looked up and stared. Sensing a blush, Jessica put her hand to her face self-consciously, murmuring something about her makeup needed adjustment.
‘Sorry, that was a little weird’ Gerry said. ‘You just reminded me of someone for a moment.’
And then, he stood quickly, bid her goodbye and was gone.
The school psychologist – who knew there was such a person in a state primary? – called to say that Rachel was becoming more and more withdrawn in class. After a few minutes of conversation, it was clear that the woman was asking the wrong sorts of question of an eight year old – lots of claptrap about her inner monologue and the like. Knowing that Ronald would be no help at all in getting to the bottom of whatever was now the problem, she suggested to Frieda that they take their kids to a local play park for a picnic lunch the next Saturday, and luckily, the date was quickly agreed. Jessica decided on the ‘two birds with one stone’ approach – ask Rachel about school while she was relaxed and happy; and see if, during innocent conversation, that code could be extracted from Frieda.
The sky was a brilliant blue – unusual for autumn, and the kids raced off to the swings the moment they had dumped the carry bags containing picnic gear and the blankets. Frieda smiled as Paul trailed behind the two girls.
‘I’d love another, you know.’
‘Annika is a darling, though. You should be very proud.’ Of all the kids at the school, Rachel made the fewest complaints about Annika. Jessica suspected that the chubby girl was picked on enough herself and couldn’t see her way clear to be cruel to other kids.
‘So, when are you coming back to work?’ Frieda asked, turning the screw cap on a bottle on dry Rosé. ‘There are so many orders coming in that Chelsea is thinking to limit the jobs to stuff over one hundred pounds. It just isn’t worth the effort to pinch the cheaper things. And we don’t have time.’
Won’t be long before that is the last thing Chelsea will be worrying about.
‘I just have to finish up a few things for Mum, to do with the probate, you know.’
‘Such a horrible thing to happen. We were all so sorry to hear about your dad.’
Jessica didn’t believe for one moment that Chelsea or Rita were in anyway sympathetic, but Frieda had shifted the conversation to a topic that might provide a lead in.
‘When I was down on the Isle of Wight I came across this old friend who was one of those people who had been caught for insider trading. Said the worst thing about not being a banker anymore was having to worry about paying for good quality suits and shoes. I thought of directing him to the Club website, but wasn’t sure if it was that easy.’
Freida tipped too much mayo on the chicken sandwiches she was constructing. Rachel and Paul would never eat those. ‘It’s not that easy, you need a special password to log in.’
‘Really? How come?’
‘Protection, really. Anyone who has received the stolen goods is an accomplice, so it is unlikely they would give the code to someone who might blab to the authorities.’
‘So my friend lucks out?’ Jessica tried to keep her voice casual.
‘Well,’ Frieda said, looking around conspiratorially. ‘I don’t suppose it would hurt if I gave it to you. Just be careful who you tell. Someone who has already gone to prison for fraud is probably a safe bet.’
Jessica held her breath, not wanting to say anything more in case Frieda forgot to provide the desired information, and she had to ask again. Eagerness meant suspicion, according to Gerry Courtauld.
‘It’s 45910. The months of all our birthdays.’ Frieda paused for a moment. ‘We really should add your birthday, shouldn’t we?’
‘No,’ said Jessica hurriedly. ‘Not with the code already circulating.’ The last thing she wanted was to be immortalised in a thieves’ password.
Then Paul fell off the see-saw and the conversation was over, but Jessica, to her shame, took out her mobile and as she raced over to her son, quickly keyed in the numbers in case she forgot them.
As it turned out, Paul was fine, and the rest of the afternoon went by without further incident. On the walk home, Rachel even commented that it was fun being with Annika – much more than Sienna.
‘Is that what’s upsetting you at school? Not having friends?’
Her daughter, wise beyond her years, turned to her and said, ‘No, Mummy, it’s that the friends I have are not very nice. It’s sad when people are mean to each other, isn’t it?’
‘Is someone being mean to you, darling?’
Rachel just shrugged, but when Jessica asked if the culprit was Sienna Jordan, she changed the subject completely, and asked, loudly, so that Paul overheard and began arguing, if she could watch Make It or Break It right when her brother’s favourite – Dr Who – was on.
The result was that Jessica felt a smidgen less guilty about what she was about to do to Sienna’s darling mother.
Tucking up the kids in bed, and leaving a nasty sandwich with fillings way past their due dates for Ronald’s supper, Jessica grabbed her mobile.
A moment later, the text was gone and the Club was betrayed for the second time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHELSEA AND THE OTHER BIBs looked up eagerly at drop off the next day. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Oh, if it’s about those bags, I . . .’
‘Forget that. There’s a much bigger opportunity to work on.’
Wow, that was quick work – the cops only received the code last night. Playing her part, Jessica looked at the four of them inquisitively. ‘Do tell.’ She was exhausted from hours of arguing with Ronald about Rachel and him needing to spend more time with the kids. His negative retort to that suggestion meant that their relationship, such as it was, deteriorated to such an extent that the following morning they were only speaking through the children.
‘Diamonds.’ Chelsea breathed the word as if it was a dirty pleasure – an anathema to Jessica’s own pleasures, which involved Maltesers and the EastEnders Omnibus.
‘Sounds dangero
us.’ Jessica fiddled with her bag, looking for her phone, as if she wasn’t really paying attention. She was conscious of what Gerry had told her about body language – don’t look too interested or too eager. In reality, she would think the idea bonkers, so in pretence, the same should appear true.
‘Isn’t it just?’ Hailey was almost bobbing up and down at the idea. ‘There’s big money at stake – a million quid.’
‘No! A million? Really?’ Jessica looked from one woman to the other. She wanted to shake them, tell them to wake up and see what was going on, but she couldn’t. Gerry would simply get one of his DCs to arrest her if she revealed that it was a trap. And then he would track the others and eventually arrest them all, too.
Might as well save herself, for her kids’ sakes.
‘I’ve already spent the money,’ Rita informed her. ‘Cinema room, complete with basement excavation and new sofas.’
Suddenly, Chelsea noticed a parking officer loitering by her car. ‘Let’s talk it out later, my house, an hour.’
It wasn’t an invitation, but given that Jessica’s attendance was subject to a police indemnity, she didn’t have a problem agreeing.
Despite Jessica insisting they shouldn’t go near the jewellery factory until they were sure about the job, the others were equally insistent on casing the ‘joint’, as Hailey laughingly called the factory.
‘This is a heist, right? I’ve seen those in the movies. I agree with Chelsea – we need to plan our moves. For the actual gig I am going to wear all black.’
The Shoplifting Mothers' Club Page 10
