Cold Killers (26 page)

‘Did Harold get in touch with you? What is the likelihood of him wanting to deal?’

Ross smiled and shrugged.

‘I need him to come to me personally. Like I said, he has a few Met officers who would broker a deal for us, but I’m not talking to anyone but the man himself.’

‘How can you do your job as a police officer if you don’t trust your colleagues?’

‘I am a one-man band. I told you that. I spend a few years in a department then I move on. I’m a troubleshooter. I identify a problem, I eradicate it, I move on.’

‘But you’re stuck on this, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I’ve hit a big Butcher-shaped wall. I want to get Tony Butcher more than I’ve ever wanted anything. He has become the case I cannot crack, but I don’t even get a
chance to try because he will not step outside his villa. I’ve been here before, Ebony, and I have a horrible feeling I’ll be here again.’

‘Okay, thanks for explaining it to me.’ Willis picked up her beer again.

‘That’s it?’ Ross asked, amused.

She nodded. ‘I respect what you’re saying. It makes sense to me. But . . .’

‘Thank you.’ He raised his bottle against hers. ‘But what?’

‘I know what it’s like to mistrust everyone. I know how it is to watch your back to such an extent that you never turn and face anyone. I know you think it’s called “not
letting your guard down”, but without that trust you can’t grow as a human being. It’s cowardice and naivety and ignorance, in its own way. No matter how many times life lets you
down you need to go in wide-eyed and hopeful to every day.’

‘You are Miss Wide-Eyed and Hopeful, are you?’

‘Compared to what I was? Yes I am.’

‘And what were you?’

‘I’m not telling you that. I’m on a need-to-know basis, remember? Until the day you tell me you care about me as a person, you care about me as a colleague, then we don’t
need to know any more about one another.’

Carter walked into the bar on Upper Street and ordered a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc. It was one of those formulaic-type bars where the trends mattered most. He and
Cabrina usually called in on one of their rare nights out. It would be for pre-dinner drinks. Carter was trying to remember the last time he had been in there. He realised they hadn’t been
out for an evening for months. They’d both been away with their mates for stag and hen dos but they hadn’t been out together for ages. That thought made him feel guilty. It would have
been his fault. His long hours completely wrecked any plans Cabrina ever made. There were very few weeks when Carter made it home when he said he would.

When she got back from Tenerife he’d take her away for a weekend, get his mum to look after Archie. Of course it would have to wait for the Butcher investigation to be over.

He took his drink over to a leather cube to sit where he could see the door but he was out of the draught. He snacked on dried edamame beans and checked his texts while he waited for Maxi
Seymour to arrive. He thought about the conversation with Bowie and he wondered if Bowie had another agenda. Bowie was very good at climbing the career ladder on the backs of others. He was even
better at blaming others when things went wrong. Not just Della’s head would roll if this went wrong. Carter would be in for the chop and Bowie would blame everything on him. Not just that,
would he try to implicate Carter? Would he cite his past relationship with Della as the reason for the failure of this mission and Argos? Carter couldn’t help but muse over it. After Argos he
had to deal with the massive fallout. He’d had to deal with his failures professionally and personally. Della had run off with Eddie and Carter had been posted to the back of beyond to try to
rebuild his career. He’d met Cabrina when he’d been on a night out with one of the officers from the station. He’d thought she was a bit gobby and a bit brash but also
quick-witted and bright, chic in killer heels and a tight dress. She had the kind of confidence he loved in a sexy, feminine woman. She could give him a run for his money. She told him he would
have to step up his game if he wanted her. She’d given him back his sparkle and his fight. She’d been just what the doctor ordered. Was he on the rebound when he met her? Of course.

‘Oi! You daydreaming? What’s she called? I might know her. Is she leggy with double Ds?’

A well-dressed man in a camel-coloured Crombie three-quarter coat with a brown velvet collar and a narrow-brimmed black hat appeared by Carter’s side without his noticing. Maxi Seymour was
always immaculate but also slightly off centre in his style.

Carter stood and shook his hand.

‘Long time, Maxi.’

‘Too long. I thought you would have been in to buy the better half a wedding ring by now.’

‘Can’t afford it. You’re too pricey. Got anything knocked off?’

‘As it happens . . .’ Maxi grinned and then slapped Carter on the back. ‘You ready for another?’ He pointed to Carter’s half-glass of wine.

‘Yeah, why not?’

The waiter came to take their order and then Maxi drank half of his pint of real ale down in one go.

‘Nothing like a hard day’s work to whet the appetite for a night out.’

‘You haven’t done a hard day’s graft in years, not since you left the force.’

‘Ha! Very true.’

Carter smiled.

‘Good to see you, Maxi. How’s business?’

‘It’s good. How’s things in the force? I hope you haven’t found my name on any hit list. My shop’s been done five times already in the last ten years.’

‘I know. I’m sorry we can’t do more to prevent it. Intelligence on that kind of robbery is nearly impossible to come by. But at least we managed to get quite a lot of it back
last time. I expect the insurance covers it, does it?’

‘In my case it does. In my shop everything has a trace. In deposit boxes it’s a different story, as you know. We worked on that case together, remember? Those slick bastards who
coordinated . . . what was it? Five robberies in two days? A museum exhibition in Dubai, safety-deposit boxes in London, a depot for diamond dealers in Antwerp? Did I miss one or two?’

‘A jeweller’s in Switzerland and a hotel holding a diamond fair in Paris. Operation Argos?’

‘That’s the one. Tony Butcher used his ill-gotten gains from the robberies to set up his drug empire, didn’t he? Christ we were so near to cracking the biggest job of our
lives. If it hadn’t gone wrong this end, you’d be head of the Met now. If it wasn’t for that bitch – what was she called?’

‘Yeah, well, who knows what went wrong? But it’s not that easy to make commissioner, I’m afraid. But you’re right, it would have been massive.’

‘That’s why I left the force. I thought, Two years down the drain and I’ve got that on my record – failed spectacularly. No, thanks. I also realised how much money I
could make from selling diamond rings. Beats dealing with the criminal fraternity. But you did okay in the end. More than okay: you’re an inspector in the murder squad now. What did you need
from me?’

‘I need some help, on the quiet,’ answered Carter as he sipped his wine. Music came over the speakers and Carter leaned forwards so as not to have to shout.

‘What is it? If I can, I will,’ answered Maxi. ‘Never too old for a bit of excitement.’

‘If I wanted to con someone into thinking I had found the missing diamonds from the Great Diamond Heist, how would I go about that? What would three hundred million’s worth of
diamonds from that heist look like?’

For a minute Maxi stared unblinking at Carter while his mind went to diamond paradise and he checked off the best wish list he’d ever been allowed to imagine.

‘The Great Diamond Heist?’

‘Yes.’

‘Christ!’

Carter could see Maxi didn’t want to come down from the dream, but Carter didn’t have all day.

‘Maxi? Only a few have to be real. Tell me where the best fakes are and tell me how I can put together the uncut stones. Where do you get them? Tell me what that would look
like.’

‘It could look like as many stones as you could hold in your hand or a truckload, depends on the carat.’

‘Go with somewhere in between.’

‘Uncuts are the best currency if you want to sell on the black market. No one knows where they came from. Theoretically, mostly you go by the colour and by the purity and the stone
they’re found in but, for argument’s sake, they can’t be traced and you can make up their history. Three hundred million in diamonds would look like a big box of uncut
glassy-looking chunks of rock – half as big as your hand, some of them – some of which would be incredible to look at: even in a raw state, you’d see the facets and the
fluorescence, the clarity. They would be huge and cut just enough to show their potential brilliance. They could be worth as much as twenty, thirty million in one stone.’

‘Did you ever see a diamond like that?’

‘I saw one but I never held one.’

‘Can you help us get hold of enough convincing fakes to fool someone? We can get hold of a few good real ones to start the ball rolling.’

‘Where from?’

‘I can’t tell you but I know they will be from the same time as the Great Diamond Heist and from the correct sources.’

Maxi smiled. ‘You’d have to let me work on it. I’d also need to know the budget.’

‘We need it done straight away. The finished thing has to be in our hands in the next week. Because this is so sensitive you’d have to be very discreet, but that’s why I came
to you – you know what we need from you.’

Maxi nodded. His eyes stayed on Carter as he thought it over for a minute.

‘I’m going to have to say . . . I can do it.’ He grinned.

Carter phoned Robbo. He was sitting at his desk, working a little later than he should. Carter knew he would be. He had yet to discuss the prickly subject of Della’s
involvement with him. He felt he owed him an explanation as one of the few to know that she was involved.

‘Maxi Seymour has agreed to help us. He’s taking over the sourcing of as many diamonds as he can find.’

‘How’s he doing that?’ asked Robbo.

‘Calling in favours, telling people he needs to borrow diamonds to put on a big display. Have you heard from Eb?’ asked Carter.

‘No, but I dare say she’ll be in touch if she’s got anything useful.’

‘Thought she would have rung to say goodnight at least.’

‘Yeah, kids today? What are they like!’ Robbo joked.

‘I haven’t had time to talk to you about Della,’ Carter blurted.

‘No.’

Carter could hear in the tone that Robbo wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

‘It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.’ He smiled into the phone.

‘Could turn out to be a Trojan Horse.’

‘It could, but without her, it’s looking more like a donkey.’

‘I’m glad you can see the funny side,’ Robbo said, ‘because, as I recall, she screwed us over last time.’

‘As much as I appreciate you sharing my burden, she screwed
me
over, no one else. Operation Argos failed for other reasons than Della – she maintains that she managed to keep
her identity secret throughout and only Eddie knew she was an undercover and that wasn’t until after the operation had failed. It’s easy to make a scapegoat out of her, but it’s
not right.’

‘Okay, well it’s your call; you’re the SIO on this. I’m just following orders. A lot of lives are reliant on her telling you the truth this time. Where is she now?’
asked Robbo.

‘She’s at the Butchers’ flat in Shoreditch. She’s waiting for Harold and Marco to come back.’

‘The one thing I have to say in her favour was that she had balls and she’s going to need them now.’

‘Melvin! For goodness’ sake rein it in!’

Chrissie, the barmaid in the Blind Beggar, shouted across to Melvin as he stumbled and spilled his pint over another unhappy customer.

Chrissie came from behind the bar with a bunch of napkins to soak up the beer from the man’s coat. ‘I’m so sorry, sir. He’s lost his dog and he’s beside himself
with worry.’

Melvin raised his hand as an apology and backed off towards the fireplace. But then the muttering started again.

‘I know a lot of things about some people in here. I could tell you things.’

Lev from the Old Jewish Bakery drank his pint down and stepped across to talk to Melvin.

‘Come on, Melvin, we’re calling it a night for you – time for you to get home. I will see you home.’

‘Get off me. You fucking hypocrite. Who you working for, eh?’

Chrissie finished placating the wet customer and came across to escort Melvin to the door.

‘It’s all right, Lev. I’ll handle it. Come on, Melvin, you’ve had enough, time to go home and sleep it off.’

‘Get off me. I don’t need to be told anything by
you
.’ Melvin shrugged her off, defiant. ‘Or you, Lev. You should be ashamed of yourself, mixing with that sort.
You’re supposed to be all about the old East End, the Bethnal Green of the past, and yet you just roll over and take it, don’t you?’

‘That’s enough, Melvin,’ Lev said, stepping closer. In the background the sound of someone laughing was the only other sound in the bar.

‘Oi, I’ve been nice so far,’ said Chrissie, getting a firmer grip on his arm. ‘I don’t need to be. I’m telling you to bugger off home now and I expect you to
listen to me, all right? Unless you want to be barred?’

Melvin raised his hand with the beer in it and slopped another wave onto the floor. Chrissie took the glass from him and steered him towards the door as he started to sob.

‘Stop, just a minute, please, Chrissie, please. Has anyone seen my dog?’ Melvin stopped to turn and address the people in the bar. ‘He’s called Scamp. He’s a little
brown dog with a collar with a bone on it. There’s a reward. I’ve a hundred nicker for anyone who returns him to me.’

‘Who gave you that? You snitch.’

Harold Butcher was watching the proceedings – he was having his first pint back on home turf. From the back of the bar the laughing grew louder. Marco walked in; he’d come in from
the garden, where he’d been having a cigarette. He was wearing a leather jacket and had a thick scarf wrapped around his neck. He wasn’t used to the cold. He started slow clapping and
laughing as Melvin tried to stand up straight.