Cold Killers (33 page)

‘He was sure someone had taken the dog,’ Lev said as he concentrated on making the wafer-thin cucumber slices and trying to stop his fingers getting near the blade.

‘I think he was right. Someone did have his dog. I don’t know who or why.’ Carter got out a photo of Marco to show Lev. ‘How do you know him?’

‘I don’t know him, Inspector. I know
of
him.’ Lev stopped slicing and squinted at the photo. Carter knew what he was doing: he was trying to put a location to it.

‘That was taken from this bakery, taken from your shop by Melvin.’

‘He came in here most days.’

‘He said he was here when this man, Marco Zapata, came in. What did Zapata want?’

Lev raised his shoulders in an exaggerated ‘Am I supposed to remember details like that?’ He resumed slicing the cucumber.

‘Did you go in the Blind Beggar to meet with Marco Zapata last night?’

‘Damn and blast!’ Lev quickly grabbed some kitchen towel and wrapped it around a bleeding finger. He threw the cucumber in the bin as blood began dripping over it. ‘I’ve
shaved the top of my finger off.’ He looked at Carter half-accusingly. Lev reached beneath the counter and pulled out a few plasters, then went to the corner of the bakery and put his
bleeding finger under the cold tap.

‘Yeah, that looks nasty,’ said Carter in a tone and with an expression that said the opposite.

‘Look, Inspector, I know of Marco Zapata.’

‘What do you know?’

‘That he’s friends with the Butcher family.’

‘Does that surprise you?’

‘No, not really. They are all Mafia, aren’t they? They will all join up when they want something that benefits them all.’

‘What is it they want, do you think?’

Lev shrugged, he pulled his finger from under the cold water and wrapped it tightly to stop the bleeding.

‘You’re asking the wrong person. I serve them coffee and bagels, make polite conversation, laugh at their jokes and I give them a donation now and again. For that, I get left alone.
I don’t have any reason to gossip or to speculate. I don’t want to lose my life.’

‘But you choose to drink in a pub where they go?’

‘I haven’t seen Marco Zapata in there before. I don’t go there often, maybe once a month. It’s my local. Do you need any more reasons?’

‘So last night was a once-a-month outing for you?’

He nodded.

‘What did people say about Melvin’s behaviour?’

‘Nothing really. He was just loud and drunk.’

‘Did you hear what Melvin said to Marco, or Harold?’

‘He said the same to all of us, that he knew things, that one of us had stolen his dog.’ Lev put plasters over his fingertip and then two latex gloves on top of that as the blood
still seeped through and began filling the finger in the glove.

‘My God,’ he said irritably. ‘Inspector, do you mind? I have to call my cousin to help. I can’t cut the ingredients with this hand like this.’

‘That’s okay. Where is he, local?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want to call him?’

‘I’ll do it in a minute. When you’re done with questions.’

‘Okay, I just want to ask you something else, Lev, and I know you’re not going to want to answer it but I need you to. Did you hear who killed Eddie Butcher?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘I can tell you something for nothing, Lev, Eddie and Melvin were both killed by someone specialising in the Colombian cartel’s form of torture.

‘Melvin was killed because he was making a stand against the likes of Marco. If you locals don’t stand up to it, Lev, this place will sink deeper into drugs and gangs; is that what
you want? I’ve walked Melvin’s route for his tour. It always went past here, always past the church, the old pub. Did something about the tour piss Marco off?’

Lev shook his head but at the same time he stood tall and faced Carter.

‘I can’t help you. Sorry, Inspector. I wish I could but I don’t know why Melvin was killed.’

Carter looked at the poster on the wall, the news clippings of Lev’s history, how his grandfather had come to the UK and had worked his way up to own the bakery and his famous bagels.

‘Your grandfather would be turning in his grave. If Melvin got killed for doing a tour of this area and pissing off some thug, what’s going to happen to you and your family along the
line? Where’s the line in the sand, Lev?’

After Carter had gone, Della had a good look around the apartment for hidden cameras. She didn’t find any. She put the television on while she went into the bathroom and
got out all the things she had from Tracy. She looked at the latex mask and the dark wig. She had a big holdall-type bag, a short duffle coat with a hood, old trainers of Tracy’s, a dark blue
baggy tracksuit and a T-shirt. She had an outfit she would never have worn in real life. She locked the things away in the cupboard and took the key with her. Then she drove back to the
apartment.

She drove to 1 Shoreditch Mews and parked her hire car. She let herself into the apartment and walked up the stairs. There was the sound of a blaring television and football
on.

Marco glanced her way. He was sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, watching the sports.

‘Where have you been?’

‘I told you, I have business to attend to. You look like shit. Go and have a shower and a shave. I need you to do some work for me this afternoon.’

He turned back to look at the television and Della went into the kitchen to make herself a coffee. She stood by the machine, listening to Marco swearing at the television and then the sound of
him getting up and switching it off. He stood behind her.

‘What work, princess?’

‘Don’t call me that; I already told you not to.’ Della felt Marco breathing on her neck. She shivered. ‘And go and wash, you absolutely stink.’

Marco laughed as he swaggered out and Della heard the
en suite
bathroom door slam in his bedroom.

She went into her room and put the diamond into the safe in the wardrobe. The safe was only a small one. These flats had been designed and built for travelling businessmen to use instead of
hotels.

She came back out and got her coffee as Marco came out of his bedroom with a bathrobe on.

‘So, what’s the plan, my lady?’

Della scowled at him; she picked up her coffee and went to sit at the Perspex dining table. He came to sit opposite her. He sat with his knees splayed; he slouched over the table. He
grinned.

Della stared at him. ‘I’m going to Hatton Garden to get what I need from the safety-deposit box. I’m going to need you close by.’

‘I should come inside with you,’ Marco said.

‘No thanks. Stand outside and look like you are taking the job seriously and not casing the joint. Put a suit on.’

Marco’s mood was souring. Whatever amusement he had hoped to gain from winding Della up, it wasn’t happening. Now his face dropped visibly. He stood and allowed his dressing gown to
fall fully apart. He had shaved his pubic hair. He had a semi. He looked at her and grinned.

Della didn’t blink. ‘Get dressed.’

The front door opened and closed and she heard the sound of footsteps. Harold’s unmistakable light feet. He had never lost the boxer’s physique, like an old feather-weight you
wouldn’t mess with. He was almost silent on his feet.

He came up level with Marco and ignored him and walked past into the kitchen. He poured himself a coffee and brought it across to sit opposite Della. Marco left the room.

‘What are you up to, Della?’

‘Up to? You know what I’m up to. I’m finding the diamonds.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Harold, I don’t.’

‘Where did you go this morning? What were you doing?’

‘Did you have me followed? Because, if you did, Harold, the deal is off, and try telling that to Tony?’

‘Laurence came here at eight this morning. He seemed to think you had made arrangements with him. You start getting cosy with Laurence before your husband’s cold in his grave and
you’re not the person I thought you were, Della. Not at all.’

‘Why did he think that?’ Della felt a wave of relief come over her. But then she could never be sure about Harold. He would definitely have her followed, but she was sure they
didn’t see her beyond Tracy’s this morning. Even then, she had walked around several routes before ending up at the beauty salon. She thought she was safe.

‘Then we have Marco with his tongue and his dick hanging out. This is turning into a
Carry On
film. You better stop playing whatever game you think you’re playing and get on
with trying to stay alive.’

‘I’m focused, Harold, just try and keep the animals in their cages.’

‘Laurence wouldn’t just hit on you without encouragement.’

‘Wouldn’t he?’

Harold looked away as he thought about it, and then he raised his palms above the table and sighed.

‘Okay, I accept, he’s probably always had a thing for you and that animal in there is not fussy.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You know what I mean. You are a beautiful woman, Della, in your prime. You will get through this. We both of us stand to gain our freedom from this deal. Tony has promised me I can retire
when this is all in place. I will build on the plot behind you. I hope I can be a friend to you, Della. My feuding days are over.’

‘The people I am going to meet with will know what a set-up looks and feels like. They will run a mile from me if they get a whiff of betrayal. I need to be left alone to meet and talk
with these people. They don’t even know they have the information I’m looking for. Don’t, I repeat, don’t fuck it up, Harold. We don’t have the time. When is this
shipment coming? When does it have to be paid for?’

‘Next week, Thursday.’

‘So we have eight days to make this happen. That’s a hell of a feat.’

‘Can you do it?’

‘I think so.’

‘You have to
know
so. If that shipment arrives and there is no payment then there will be two cartels after our skins.’

‘Wait here.’ Della went into her room and opened the safe. She came back with a cloth bag containing the large uncut diamond that she’d brought with her from Spain.

Harold put his hand inside and lifted out the stone. He weighed it in his hand and turned it round, looking at its brilliance.

‘Jesus Christ! That’s a wonderful sight. Must be worth a million. Do you have lots more like this?’

‘The rest are almost in my hands.’

Harold stood and reached across and kissed Della loudly and vigorously on both cheeks.

‘Christ, Della. I never thought you was good for it. You’ve come good, girl. Tony will be jumping around when I tell him. When can you get the rest of them?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Well, I’m sold on you, girl. You tell me what you need and I’ll get it. Fucking hell!’ He held it aloft again and the light glanced across its facets. Marco walked in
with a deep-blue suit on and a black shirt.

‘Marco!’ Harold called out to him. Marco walked across. He took the fist-sized diamond from Harold’s hands and weighed in his own, then held it up to the light.

‘Oh, yes. Now the fun begins.’

‘You keep this one and show it to your Colombians,’ said Della, ‘but tell them to be very careful, tongues will start wagging when this kind of diamond, this big, this
expensive, turns up in London.’

‘Okay, no problem. A diamond expert is flying in from Johannesburg this evening.’

‘What’s his name?’ asked Della.

Marco focused on her past the diamond. ‘You don’t need to know. Just get on with your job and I’ll get on with mine.’

‘Follow me, please.’

Della cleared security and verification and she was escorted down in the lift to the vaults. The combinations and locks were passed and the clerk opened the massive door. He walked along the
walls of boxes until he double-checked he had the right box, and took it out from its space.

He led Della into a small anteroom the size of a cupboard, where she could view the box privately.

She waited until she was alone and then opened the box with the key from Eddie’s safe. She knew what she thought would be in there, but she was hoping there would be no surprise that left
her feeling betrayed. The box was only small, but it was heavy. She knew that by the way the clerk had carried it. She steeled herself and flipped the lid right back as she stood over the box to
take in the contents. At the top of the box, resting on a cloth bag, was a letter to Della. She smiled as she read it. Eddie was trying to take care of her in the only way he knew how. Under the
letter was a Walther handgun and a box of ammunition.

Della pulled out the cloth bag and sat down to look inside; there was a rolling movement in the bag.

She tipped its contents gently onto a tray provided on the table. There was a collection of diamonds, some cut, some still in their original state; they were even better than the uncut one she
had found in the safe at home. Della ran her fingertips over the diamonds and picked up a massive pink one that she recognised. She had seen pictures of it on the news. It was referred to as the
Lost Rose. It had been an early find from the Argyle mine in Australia. It had been stolen when it was waiting to be exhibited in Dubai. The rough diamond had been cut into eight stones; the
largest was in front of her now. She knew it was the same pink diamond in the ring that Eddie had given her for her thirtieth birthday. He had always said it would be the first of many and that the
stones would be just as perfect and just as rosy pink as the first one: now she was looking at the reason he knew that.

At the bottom of the box, wrapped in plastic, was a wodge of fifty-pound notes. Della emptied the box.

Marco was waiting outside.

‘I have people to see,’ Marco said, as Della got into the car.

‘What’s the problem?’ She watched him sweat on a cold day.

‘Everything has changed. The shipment is only three days away now; it will arrive in a container at the docks. It needs to be moved fast. We need everything in place. Get the payment
organised straight away.’