De Voe clamped his hand around his throat and backed away, but Alberto didn’t seem interested in stabbing him again. All Alberto wanted to do was watch the man he hated bleed to death. De Voe was pressing so hard onto his own neck, that his face was going bright red and he could hardly breathe. Alberto watched him stumble backwards, until he reached the door. De Voe grasped the handle and used his weight to push it down. Only then did Alberto move, punching De Voe several more times in rapid succession on the other side of his neck. De Voe clasped both hands to his throat and staggered back into the room, fountains of blood spurting through his fingers. He collapsed onto the floor and in seconds he was dead.
By the time Jack arrived at the emporium, he was close to passing out. He could feel his heart beating inside his skull as his head wound throbbed in excruciating pain.
He bypassed the main door and entered the underground car park. He was hoping to find a burly security guard seated in a dark corner somewhere but the car park was empty. Shit! Jack’s only backup was now stuck behind a line of angry drivers on Battersea Bridge. Jack tried the door to the stairwell and found it was open. He paused briefly in a darkened gap between a ticket machine and the grey concrete wall, to get his breath back and to evaluate his options. De Voe’s Ferrari was in its spot. Confused thoughts flashed in and out of Jack’s mind: if Alberto was here, as Jack suspected, and he went in without backup, it’d be two against one. He needed that security guard! But what if he was on De Voe’s payroll? Then it’d be three against one. Jack ventured into the stairwell alone and headed up to the second floor.
Alberto was in the tiny en suite toilet adjoining De Voe’s office. Inside, on hangers, was a selection of fresh white shirts. He removed his own shirt, which was now patterned with arterial spray, and washed his hands and upper body. He then dressed in one of De Voe’s clean shirts and, as he fastened the expensive pearl buttons, he watched a thick, red pool of blood around De Voe’s upper body gradually congeal. Alberto regained his senses, snatched the rucksack of money from the desk and reached for the office door. But then he heard the familiar gentle noise of the shop door opening.
Jack pushed the shop door open just an inch, then reached up to silence the bell before entering. The office door was shut and a thin strip of light shone from beneath it.
Propped against the wall was a retractable metal window pole used for opening the skylight — Jack grabbed it, then opened the door cautiously, slowly revealing De Voe’s body lying in a pool of his own blood. No doubt this was Alberto’s work, but he didn’t imagine that Alberto was still there; he’d surely be long gone, hopefully heading to Heathrow where he’d run straight into the hands of the waiting police.
Still, Jack remained wary as he pushed the office door wide until it was flat against the wall. The room was empty. Jack took a few moments to make certain it was safe to enter, then saw the open safe in the wall behind the desk. He thought he could see the diamond bracelet he’d stolen from the police evidence room and was so relieved at the thought of getting it back, he stepped across the room without even noticing the door to the tiny en suite. He laid the metal pole on the desk, reached into the safe and put the diamond bracelet into his pocket. The safe also contained a black velvet bag, and inside was a handful of large emeralds that Jack presumed to be from the stolen necklace that had once belonged to Barbara Hutton.
As Jack examined the emeralds, Alberto emerged silently from the en suite and stepped towards him, raising his hand with the buckle knife above his head. As Alberto prepared to strike, Jack heard an intake of breath and instinctively grabbed the metal pole, and spun round, swinging the pole at the blurry figure he now saw before him. The pole met thin air, sending Jack off-balance and making him see stars, as a wave of nausea hit him from the sudden movement. He stumbled against a low filing cabinet, catching his ankle painfully, but the throbbing in his head was so intense, he hardly noticed. As he turned to try and focus on his assailant again, he knew that although he’d evaded one attack, he was no match for Alberto in his current state.
Alberto smiled to himself as he took in Jack’s weakened state, stepping forward confidently and aiming a thrust at Jack’s throat. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden flash of the pole as it crashed down onto his forearm, sending him staggering against the desk. But the force of the impact snatched the pole from Jack’s hand, and it went skidding across the floor to the other side of the office.
Pain now added an edge to Alberto’s blood-lust. ‘Come on then, Jack Warr,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s get this over with!’
Time slowed as Alberto charged again. Without a weapon, Jack knew he only had one option left. He raised his left forearm in front of him, hoping that Alberto would take the bait, then felt a searing pain as the knife plunged into the muscle. Ignoring the pain, Jack twisted his arm so Alberto’s grip on the knife loosened, then grabbed it out of his hand before landing a solid punch squarely on the bastard’s jaw. He heard the crack of bone as Alberto fell like a dead weight and Jack immediately knew that he was the kind of cocky, arrogant prick who was great at dishing it out, but no good at taking it. Jack crawled on top of Alberto and punched him again and again as the sound of distant sirens reached his ears.
Jack stopped, more from exhaustion than from any desire to spare Alberto further punishment. He closed his eyes, and the pain from his wounded forearm began to force itself into his consciousness. Suddenly he felt a hand closing around his throat. Alberto was not out for the count after all. He stabbed the knife into Alberto’s shoulder and the pressure around his windpipe slackened, then suddenly his head exploded in pain as Alberto landed a punch on the wound from the crowbar. He felt himself rolling sideways onto the floor as fresh blood pulsed from the wound and a wave of blackness threatened to overwhelm him.
After what seemed like minutes, Jack managed to open his eyes and saw Alberto struggling to his knees. With a huge effort, Jack managed to do the same, until both men, exhausted and in varying degrees of pain, were kneeling on either side of De Voe’s corpse. Alberto’s mouth hung open, allowing blood to drip steadily onto his shirt that was now more red than white. He dragged himself to his feet, scooping up the discarded metal pole from the floor as he did so. Jack painfully followed suit, and the two men stood facing each other, both now armed with each other’s weapons. Alberto raised the metal pole high above his head and charged forwards. Jack tried to raise the buckle knife but his arm didn’t seem to be working. He braced himself for the impact, knowing that one more solid blow to his head would be the end of him...
Then Alberto suddenly went as stiff as a board and dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks. Two wires led from Alberto’s shoulder blades to the taser in the hand of Jack’s driver who, thankfully, was no longer stuck on Battersea Bridge.
Jack had assumed that Ridley was ensconced at Heathrow Airport, ready to arrest Alberto if he decided to follow his sister’s escape route. In fact, within seven minutes of the ‘all units’, ‘two ambulance’ and ‘coroner’ call going out, Ridley was racing up the emporium stairs towards De Voe’s office.
When he reached the top, Jack was seated on the floor in the corridor holding wads of gauze to the stab wound in his forearm. Beyond him, in the office, De Voe’s body still lay centre stage, his eyes open and one hand still clutched at his throat. ‘Alberto killed him.’ Jack thought he’d clarify that detail straight away, in case Ridley thought that Jack had done it. Jack was white as a sheet, looking as if he might join De Voe at any moment, but he continued with his staccato handover. ‘He’s gone to the hospital. I stabbed him. He stabbed me. I’m fine.’