Keep Your Eyes on Me

by Sam Blake

  Vittoria sighed. ‘They weren’t insured anyway – he must have worked that out. You’d need to be a museum to afford cover on anything that valuable. We’ve no way of even proving that they were here – or real, come to that – apart from the photos on my phone.’

  ‘There is footage on your security cameras of Marcus taking what looks like a pile of paintings down to the pool house late on Friday evening. Do you have a safe down there?’

  Vittoria shook her head. ‘No, but he was worried about them being in the house in case there was another break-in.’ Vittoria let out a sigh. ‘He was very anxious about the paintings, about the lawsuit – about his job. I suggested he take them down to the pool house – no one would think to look for paintings there. He’d had terrible trouble sleeping – I told him to take some of my tablets – and I thought he’d be able to relax better with them out of the house.’

  Gallagher nodded, his voice off hand as he said, ‘What sort of tablets would those have been?’

  ‘Sleeping tablets. I’ve got quite a cocktail between those and my painkillers.’

  ‘And where do you keep them?’

  ‘In my handbag, all over the house – some in the kitchen drawer. Some in the bedroom.’ Vittoria stopped speaking, her eyes full of pain. ‘I should never have told him to take them, but … oh God …’

  Aidan leaned over and squeezed her arm, then turned to Gallagher: ‘You think this Russian could have followed Croxley and wiped the tapes when he was finished?’

  ‘It’s possible he or an associate did. We’re looking at the CCTV on surrounding properties to see if we can ascertain their point and time of entry to the property, assuming that’s what happened. It’s one possibility. Croxley’s phone was in the water, but his call records show he sent two texts at 3.40 p.m., both about Andropov collecting a package at a shop in London on Monday. It seems likely he was attacked while he was distracted sending them, so we have a timeline of sorts.’

  Vittoria shook her head. ‘I’ve said to Marcus over and over again about that back hedge – the public footpath along the cliff is on the other side. That’s why I wanted extra cameras. I should just have had it dug out and a wall built. Dear God, I still can’t believe this has happened.’

  Chapter 53

  IN LONDON, Great Russell Street was humming with Monday morning traffic. Jack Power leaned over the shop counter, his sleeves rolled up, coffee cooling beside him, and looked out at the crowds passing the door. It was unseasonably warm today and he’d pinned the door open to let in the sunshine and the sounds of the street and perhaps tempt in some of the passers-by. There was always a constant flow of tourists to the British Museum and plenty of students going to and fro. Most of their business was from regular customers but in this part of London you never knew who might walk in.

  He felt a surge of emotion. He was so relieved to be back here, so happy in this moment right now, with the sunshine falling in through the door and all the old books and prints around him, embracing him like old friends. There weren’t even words to describe the feeling. He belonged here. The morning he’d woken up and realised what had happened at the card game had been the worst day of his entire life. His head had been pounding and it had taken him a while to surface, blearily wondering what he was doing passed out on a sofa in the library of a private club, but then it had hit him and he’d stumbled straight onto the landing to find the bathroom and vomited his guts out.

  He’d literally wanted to kill Edward Croxley. Although he couldn’t tell Lily that, couldn’t tell her, as he’d dragged himself to her flat, of all the ways he’d genuinely considered to get rid of him. Like pushing him under a bus or a tube train or bashing him on the back of the head with something suitably heavy and then pulverising his brains.

  But none of those would have got the shop back.

  He’d felt so powerless, like everything was dark. And then he’d got to the bridge and— He cut the thought off. It had needed Lily’s ingenuity and cool head to sort it all out. Perhaps that was why God had made women: to get men out of the huge fucking shit they got themselves into. She’d been so amazing, so unbelievably calm, when he’d told her. She’d said that she’d fix it as soon as she got back from New York. She’d change the ticket so she’d be back sooner.

  And he didn’t know how she’d done it, but she had sorted it all out.

  He had the best sister on the planet.

  Christ, he was going to miss her when she went to New York – he was dreading it really – but they had Skype and FaceTime and it was the job of a lifetime; she could hardly turn it down.

  He nursed his coffee, deep in thought. He’d just have to get used to being on his own. Although, maybe he wouldn’t be completely on his own. The new girl who had started working in the French restaurant next-door-but-one had been very chatty when he’d called in for his coffee earlier. She’d been taking her own coffee break, had been sitting at the back of the restaurant with her nose buried in a book. She’d jumped up when she’d heard his voice, had mentioned how much she loved Hitchcock, and there was that play on at the Dominion. Maybe he should ask her? She said she’d studied art history too and she had the most amazing French accent.

  The key thing was that he needed to see Lily going to New York as an opportunity to develop what he was doing here. He had so many plans for the shop and the stock. He wanted to talk to people in the BBC props department, to meet developers and interior designers who needed original prints for renovations and conversions. There was so much accumulated stuff here that just needed dusting down and sorting out. And he was sure there were a few gems.

  A sound at the door made Jack turn around.

  A very tall, blocky blond guy had walked in and stopped to check out a print of the Baltic Sea. He was well dressed in sharply creased chinos and what looked distinctly like handmade shoes, looked like he could afford to drop a couple of grand on old maps. Which was exactly what Jack needed this morning after being closed for so long. Although, it had to be said, this guy looked more like a weightlifter or a Viking than a banker. He was thick set, with bright blue eyes set off by a pale blue shirt that strained across his chest and a dark blue blazer. No tie, but then his neck was so big Jack thought he’d have problems finding a tie long enough to fit.

  Jack straightened up and smiled. ‘Good morning. Nice out there today. We need a bit of sunshine.’

  The man turned to him. ‘It is.’

  ‘Are you looking for maps? I’ve got more at the back of the shop.’

  ‘Not really.’ The man’s accent was public-school but with an Eastern European or Russian inflection. As he spoke, Jack heard Lily’s footsteps on the wooden stairs behind him. She came into the shop carrying a huge print of a bird of paradise in a golden cage, the ornate gold frame thick with dust.

  ‘Look, I finally found it – see how strong the colours are? God knows how long it’s been up there.’ She glanced up and realised Jack wasn’t alone in the shop. ‘Oh, hello, lovely morning. Can we help you?’ Lily leaned the print against the counter and wiped her hands down the front of her dungarees, smiling broadly at the man. She had her hair clipped up, a pencil stuck through her bun.

  ‘Hello, you must be Lily? A friend of mine left something here for me. Edward Croxley? I think you know him?’

  Jack looked at the man blankly for a moment. How did he know Lily’s name?

  Then what he’d actually said and the name Edward Croxley sank in, and he realised who the guy was. The text Croxley had sent. He was the Russian. Jack felt sweat break out down his back. Holy fuck, some days he could be really dense.

  This was the Russian guy Lily’s friend had said Croxley had been getting the amulets for. The amulets that had been smuggled into the UK along fuck-only-knew what route.

  Jack forced himself to smile, said weakly, ‘Oh yes …’

  Lily interrupted him, her voice hard. She’d paled several shades but her eyes were blazing. ‘I’ll get it for you. How is Mr Croxley?’


  ‘I’ve no idea. I received a text from him on Saturday afternoon saying I could collect it here.’

  Lily’s face was flushed as she turned to go into the back room.

  As the door at the back of the shop fell closed behind her, the Russian began looking at another print on the wall. Jack shifted from foot to foot, his coffee forgotten. He felt he should say something to fill the awkward silence, but what? There was so much he wanted to say, but this guy was dangerous and he wasn’t completely stupid.

  He didn’t need to worry; the Russian seemed very relaxed. His hands in his trouser pockets, he looked at various prints, at the first editions in the glass display cabinet.

  Jack was so focused on the Russian that he almost didn’t notice another two men come in. Then, catching their movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned. One was wearing a tweed sports jacket with navy chinos, the other more casual in a grey jacket. But more noticeably, one of them was holding a mobile phone, a wire running to the ear buds in his ears. Jack couldn’t hear what they were saying but the one on the phone seemed to be listening intently to whoever was on the other end.

  They seemed to be taking a great interest in the Baltic Sea as well.

  Jack forced himself to sound relaxed. ‘Morning, gentlemen – lovely one isn’t it?’

  One of the men turned to him and grinned, nodding. ‘Certainly is.’ He was pure London. Inside, Jack heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t think he could cope with any more members of the Russian mafia arriving this morning. And at least with two other people in the shop, the one they had was less likely to shoot him and Lily dead. Was that what they did? He froze. Maybe it was all nerve agents these days. Was this guy leaving some sort of invisible trail as he walked around the shop? Jesus fucking Christ.

  Jack glanced at the Russian. He was looking at another print, had his broad back to him, his hands still in his pockets.

  Behind him, Jack heard the door to the back room open and Lily appeared with a large bright-yellow carrier bag. The contents were bulky.

  It took the Russian two steps to get to Lily. The guy had to be at least six seven. She handed him the bag. Jack could see she was fighting an expression of total disgust.

  ‘I think you’ll find everything is in there. There’s a small jewellery box at the bottom.’

  The Russian gave her a flirtatious grin that made Jack’s stomach heave. ‘Thank you, lovely lady. This is all I need.’ Lily just stared at him like he was something on the bottom of her shoe. Something that smelled very, very bad.

  He turned to leave but the two men in sports jackets had blocked the door.

  ‘Excuse me …’ He held the bag in front of him as if he was intending to pass between them.

  ‘Not so fast there. Sergei Andronov? I’m arresting you on suspicion of—’

  Jack hardly caught the rest of the sentence. The Russian moved fast, made to head out the door regardless of who was in his way, and at that exact moment there was a volley of shouts from outside and a swarm of black-uniformed, heavily armed police officers closed in around the door of the shop. Jack had no idea how many there were.

  The two guys in the sports jackets had parted and now stood on either side of the Russian. Behind them, one of their colleagues filled the doorway. He was wearing a black crash helmet with the visor down, carrying an assault rifle, and stood poised with it pointed directly at the Russian’s chest.

  ‘Armed police, hands away from your body and lie on the floor.’

  Holy fucking hell.

  The command was shouted rather than said.

  Jack glanced at Lily, who had dropped down behind the end of the counter. She glared at him and gestured for him to do the same. Jack had flattened himself against the wall and now slid down, praying they weren’t going to open fire.

  Just over the top of the counter, he watched as Andronov slowly put the bag on the ground and equally slowly, holding his hands out at his sides, knelt down. He was shaking his head and in the reflection of the open glass Jack could see he was smiling. A moment later Andronov’s hands were being secured with plastic handcuffs. Outside the shop, through the window display, Jack could see a white police riot van had drawn up on the pavement, its blue lights flashing. With their weapons still trained on him, the squad indicated Andronov should stand, and then they manoeuvred him into the back of the van. He went easily, like it was all a big joke.

  ‘Can we close up for a few minutes, do you think?’ The sports jacket standing closest to the counter raised his eyebrows. He was mid-forties, his hair cropped short, the earbuds connected to his phone still in his ears. ‘I’m DS Dave Thornton, this is DC Donal Connell.’ He indicated the other guy who had come into the shop with him.

  Standing up, steadying herself on the end of the counter, Lily flicked a weak smile at the detective sergeant and said in a small voice, ‘Of course. Jack, just put the sign on the door.’

  Jack reached for the shop keys from the hook under the till and came out from behind the counter. The van moved off as he pushed the main door closed, turning the key in the lock and flipping the ‘gone to lunch, back in an hour’ sign over.

  Turning around, he looked in disbelief at the two men. ‘What the fuck was that?’

  DS Thornton smiled at him sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry to launch this on you with no warning. We’ve been watching Sergei Andronov and his boss, Igor Kaprizov, for some time. We know about their smuggling operation, about the amulets and Edward Croxley’s involvement. We heard Croxley was trying to sell Andronov a painting. A text was sent telling him to collect it here this morning. What can you tell us about that?’

  Lily shrugged and put her hands on each side of her face, as if holding it helped her focus. ‘Amulets?’ She looked confused. ‘What amulets?’ Then, as if she’d realised he’d asked a question, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what Croxley was doing. He’s a total toe-rag – he swindled Jack out of our shop in a card game. I’ve no idea if it would stand up in court – I mean, it was a thing when people duelled at dawn – but we didn’t have the money to go to solicitors.’ Lily took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. ‘I’m sorry, I just need a minute.’ She closed her eyes tightly as if she was trying to calm down to focus on explaining. When she opened them again she said, ‘We had no idea why or what Croxley wanted with the shop, but then he put the keys though my front door on Friday. I came home and there they were on the mat.’ She shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘When we came in, it looked like the place had been searched. Then Jack got a text from Croxley on Saturday to say he was to give the man that called in today the bag with the painting in it.’ Lily took a ragged breath. ‘We didn’t look in it. I was too frightened to, to be honest. I’d no idea what he was up to. I just was so grateful to get the shop back.’

  ‘So you didn’t look in the parcel you just handed over at all?’

  Lily shook her head, a look of panic crossing her face. ‘Was that very stupid? It wasn’t drugs, was it?’

  DS Thornton shook his head. ‘Nothing quite like that. Do you sell many original paintings here?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘None at all – we do antique prints and books. There are lots of bigger shops doing paintings. That’s not us. You need know-how and experience to be able to identify proper art.’

  ‘Have you arrested Croxley?’ Jack had been keeping quiet until now; he knew it was always better to let Lily do the talking in these types of situations.

  DS Thornton turned to look at Jack. ‘Unfortunately, he was found dead yesterday just outside Dublin.’

  ‘He fucking deserved that.’

  ‘Jack!’ Lily looked at him hard. ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘I can. He was a total con man and a thief. You said it yourself. Good riddance, I say. I hope it was long and painful.’

  The detective sergeant looked at him, his face unreadable. ‘He drowned, actually, under suspicious circumstances.’ He paused. ‘Who else knew about him getting hold of
the shop?’

  Lily looked at Jack expectantly. He felt himself blush. ‘The other guys in the card game did. I was in school with a couple of them. One guy I didn’t know. It was at a club, though – I’m sure they have CCTV.’

  ‘We’ll need these men’s names.’

  ‘Of course.’ Jack nodded.

  ‘So is Croxley really dead?’ There was disbelief in Lily’s voice.

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s looking a lot like someone killed him and another man on Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Saturday?’ Lily’s voice caught. ‘Who was the other man?’

  ‘A bloke called Marcus Devine, a pilot. It was his pool Croxley ended up in. We reckon these Russians were involved. We’ve been watching them for a while.’

  ‘But … are we in any danger? I mean he was arrested here …’ Lily’s voice trembled.

  Jack felt like he was going to be physically sick. He couldn’t take much more of this.

  ‘We’ll need to question you formally, but you seem to have got caught up in a scam that Croxley was involved in – importing goods illegally into the UK. I believe you bought a box from an auction in Hertfordshire?’

  Jack frowned, his face confused. ‘What’s that got to do with it? It was all old books.’

  ‘Croxley and Andronov have been under surveillance for some time. Croxley has been to auctions all over the home counties, and Andronov seems to be his contact for the goods purchased. Apparently the box you bought contained some valuable antiquities that Croxley was supposed to buy. Sumerian gold amulets. They’re almost pure gold and very rare – and very small. I’d guess that’s why he needed to get into the shop, to find them.’

  ‘Do you think he found them – that’s why he gave the keys back?’ Lily shook her head, her eyes wide, then before anyone could answer said, ‘But how do you know we’re not involved? Are you going to arrest us?’ Lily looked at him, fear written all over her face.