“Maybe he sent a team over; he probably runs hundreds of men,” Boniface thought out loud.
“I expect so, sir. Europol said that they trailed an SUV belonging to Van Aart to the Channel Tunnel and made sure that customs checked the passports and the vehicle thoroughly. The vehicle was clean. They are sending over the photo page of each man’s passport.”
“You know, Scott, on the surface this may look like bad news, but when criminals start rushing things like this they invariably make mistakes. They don’t plan properly and they give us a chance to snare them.” Scott wasn’t sure he fully understood the Inspector, and so Boniface explained.
“Hickstead and Van Aart don’t know that we have linked them. Van Aart doesn’t know he is about to be closed down. His men in the UK don’t know that we have linked them to this robbery, and they don’t know that we know what they look like. I think it is also safe to assume that if their vehicle really was clean, then they are getting help from someone in London, and I’m sure it isn’t Lord Hickstead. I think we will find that one of our local villains provided the hardware. How else could they have got hold of it so quickly? We know their car was clean, and they haven’t been in the UK twenty four hours yet. No, Scott, they think that they’re being clever, but I think that we are cleverer. What do you say?”
“I’m sure of it, too, sir,” Scott agreed, feeling much happier than he had fifteen minutes earlier.
Boniface picked up his mobile and dialled Josh Hammond. He wasn’t looking forward to making this call.
Chapter 61
Ashburnham Mews, Greenwich, London. 7:30pm.
Today was to be our last full day and night together before Dee returned to her flat and we both returned to work, and so I had intended it to be a wonderful, memorable day. Given my aspirations for the day, we probably should not have considered attending the West Ham versus Chelsea match. Even the most ardent West Ham supporter must have foreseen defeat at the hands of the reigning Premiership champions, and the match did indeed run to form. It was a miserable day for West Ham fans. We were one goal down in the first few minutes to the West London based champions. I had hoped rather optimistically for a draw at least, but when the second Chelsea goal went in a few minutes later, I decided to sit back and enjoy the company and forget that if we lost this match we would have played four games without winning a single point.
We did lose by three goals to one in the end, and had to bear the ignominy of being the only team in any league not have any points on the board. Less than a month into the season and we were already well behind the clubs that we had considered no hopers before the season began. We needed three points from our next home game against Tottenham.
While we were at the match I had received a message on my BlackBerry from Inspector Boniface. He wanted to talk to me as soon as possible, and so as soon as we got back to the flat I called the number he had left. The first twice I called I was diverted to voice mail, but the third time I called I spoke to the Inspector. For my own peace of mind I soon wished that I hadn’t.
I laid my BlackBerry on the table and switched it onto loudspeaker so that Dee could listen too as the inspector explained that the Citysafe Depository had been robbed and a number of boxes had been cleaned out, one of which was the sealed box of Lord Hickstead. Boniface tried to play down the importance of the robbery by insisting that it changed nothing and that Hickstead would still be tried and convicted. But we all knew that with the money and the painting the case would have been a slam dunk, whereas now Hickstead would be looking for a deal.
I sympathised with him for being called out to deal with the robbery in the middle of a family event, and asked him to pass my regards to DCI Coombes, who had eventually turned up and who was growing on me.
***
Dee had promised me that she had something planned that would cheer me up, and she did. It perked me up in every sense. I had seen a gaudy purple bag with gold coloured 1960s style writing on it on the bedroom floor earlier that day, and I had been curious. The logo on the carrier bag read Retro City, an odd shop run by a fifty something couple who had been flower children in the 1960s and still dressed as if they were. I had been in the shop a few times, as it was close to where I lived on the High Street, and I had thought it strange. Stepping inside felt rather like going back in time. There were clothes made in the iconic styles of the period, Herman’s Hermits singles, LP’s and CD’s and hippy paraphernalia all around. If anyone ever asked me if I knew where to buy fragrant joss sticks, I would direct them to Retro City without a moment’s hesitation.
I had visions of Dee emerging from the bedroom in a flowing Kaftan with a beaded headband holding her auburn locks in place. I was wrong. Dead wrong. Wonderfully wrong.
Dee shouted for me to close my eyes, I did as I had been instructed. I could hear her walking across the room, and I sensed her standing in front of me. She said I could open my eyes, I did.
For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. I had often used the expression ‘I was left speechless’, but only now did I understand what it actually meant. I began to talk but just croaked. I tried again but nothing came out. I concentrated and eventually managed to kick start my vocal chords, but only to stutter like an idiot.
“That’s, I mean it’s, the way it fits. Wow.”
“So you like it, then?”
If I could have connected my brain and voice box I would have told her that there was not a man in the known universe that wouldn’t have liked it. I stared at her again. With her hair swept back and turned up at the ends and her face lightly made up, she glowed. At her neck was a buckled collar which topped out the figure hugging shiny black leather catsuit which had a zipper running down the front. I am quite certain it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life.
I was immediately transported back to the 1980s when my dad used to sit next to me on the sofa and we would watch reruns of the 1960s cult TV show, The Avengers. My dad was in love with Emma Peel - he probably still is - and now he owns a complete boxed set, which contains all one hundred and eight episodes starring Diana Rigg. Mum doesn’t seem to enjoy them quite as much, for some reason.
I guessed that the catsuit I was looking at was styled after the Diana Rigg costume, as it had definite 60’s styling, although it could just as easily have been based on the Catwoman suit Julie Newmar wore in the Batman TV series of the same era.
Dee spun around on her patent leather boots.
“It’s actually quite comfortable, and flexible.” She ran through a few martial arts moves, including high kicking, but stopped when she noticed I was sweating.
“Get you shoes on and go and order the takeaway,” she instructed. “I’ll have a Chicken Korma with plain white rice and nan bread.”
“But the Indian Restaurant is almost a mile away,” I complained, knowing that I would pass two Chinese takeaways, a kebab shop and the Pizza & Pasta Palace before reaching the Spice Island Restaurant. Although, I had to concede that the food from there was wonderful.
“What? Don’t you think I’m worth it, then?” Dee pouted as she started to unzip her catsuit.
“OK,” I conceded. “I’m on my way. I’ll be back soon.”
It was beginning to get dark outside, and so I cut through the back garden and climbed over the small fence into Mrs Catterpole’s garden before walking silently beside her house onto her driveway and onto the main road. Mrs Catterpole was a feisty white haired old lady who had scolded me more than once for using this shortcut. I vividly remembered one occasion when I thought I had got away with it. I was just exiting through her gate and she called me back.