Royal Heist (35 page)

“Does Sylvia know?”

“No. If I’d told her I would have had to pay her off, and then the other creditors would be hounding me for their cut too. This way, I got some of my losses back and Moreno took off, I hope never to be seen again.” He shrugged.

“So how are things now, financially?” she asked.

“Well, not good, but they’re a hell of a lot better with Moreno’s cash. At least I’m not forced to sell this place, which I would have been if I hadn’t got to the bastard.”

“Did you have to do it illegally?”

“Of course. I had to carry the money back into England in a suitcase, which is another reason I thanked God I’d used a false name. It was all done to protect us. Legal or not, I did it, but who is Moreno going to cry to? Not the police. He’s the criminal, not me. He committed a massive fraud that bankrupted a lot of people. I know I’ve told you a few lies, but darling, I had to do this on the spur of the moment. I didn’t have any time to waste, and the fewer people who knew of my intentions the better.”

“On the spur of the moment? Do you think I’m stupid? Some of the dates on the passports go back years. And who is this Michael Shaughnessy character?”

“Well, having a fake identity worked once, so I did it a few times. As I said, it was to protect myself. You buy horses in Ireland and it’s all over the
Racing New
s
! The fewer people know what I’m doing the better.”

“But I’m your wife!”

“And if I hadn’t pulled it off, you’d have been run through the mill with me. I was only trying to protect you.”

“Treat me like an idiot, more like,” she snapped.

“If that’s what you call protection, then yes. I didn’t want to involve you in case it went wrong. I might have been arrested at Heathrow with the cash. Fortunately I wasn’t, so there was no harm done. I also couldn’t put the cash into a bank because I’d be hauled up for taxes. But we’re not bankrupt yet, my darling, so as I said, no harm done.”

“There is, though.” He frowned at her. “You’ve made me feel inadequate and helpless. You were in trouble when we went to Monaco, but you never discussed it with me and instead bought me expensive gifts as if nothing was wrong, when all the time you were in dire trouble. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Loved?” He laughed, but she turned away angrily.

“No, foolish. But it is still not making sense to me. For instance, you’ve sold Bandit Queen, and Fleming thinks she’s been bought by this Michael Shaughnessy, which is the name on one of your passports. But that doesn’t make sense because it’s really you, isn’t it? The passport had your photograph in it.”

“Correct. It’s simple. If I went bankrupt, Bandit Queen would have been part and parcel of the debts. This way I still own her.”

“But she was mine! You bought her for me!”

“Well, that’s true, but she still is in a way.” He got up, put his arms around her, and kissed her neck. “You’ve had so much to deal with recently, with your mother’s death. I just didn’t want to worry you. And”—he looked at his watch—“if we don’t get a move on, we’ll both be in the doghouse because we’ll be late for the girls’ production.”

She nodded and kissed him, then touched his face. “That is such a weird smell, like glue. Next you’ll tell me you’re really as bald as a coot and you’re wearing a wig.” He grinned, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her out of the room. The phone rang, and she shrieked, “Don’t answer it! It’ll be Helen Lyons.”

He carried her up the stairs and set her down midway. His knee was throbbing. The phone rang and rang. He wanted to answer it in case it concerned him, but Christina caught his hand.

“She’s called every other day. She’s trying to get me to contact her sister for her.”

“Why?” He looked over the banister rail to the hall table below, where the phone still rang.

“Because when she found out David and Sylvia were having an affair, she said she was never going to speak to her again. She asked me to call her on her behalf. Did you know about it?”

“What?”

“That Sylvia was seeing David, for years apparently.”

“Good God! No, of course I didn’t. What did she want? Is it to do with David or what?”

“It’s the insurance money. Apparently Sylvia was handling all the claims, and now Helen is running short of cash.”

The phone had stopped ringing.

“Did you speak to Sylvia?”

“No. I even called her office, but they said she was away. New York, I think. But when Helen called again, just before you got home, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I told her that, considering what David had done to us, she could damned well call Sylvia herself!”

Christina’s mood changed. “I have felt very lonely while you’ve been away, Edward.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t have any choice.” He stroked her face and kissed her gently.

“But is everything all right? I mean, truthfully. Please, no more lies. I hated prizing open the drawers like some demented, jealous woman, and then when it all became clear how badly off we are financially, I almost hated you for being so dishonest with me.”

“The truth is that we’re out of trouble now, and with the expectation I have for Royal Flush . . . If he wins the Derby, it’ll put this place on the map. He’ll be worth millions.” He kissed her again. “We’re almost in the clear, sweetheart.”

“And you didn’t have to remortgage the farm?”

“Nope. I got away without having to do that by the skin of my teeth. We’re safe.”

She leaned against him as they continued up the stairs. “Things have to change between us,” she said quietly. “From now on, don’t lie to me anymore.”

“I won’t. Hell, you might take a screwdriver to
me
next, never mind my desk!” He drew her close to him, and they walked up to their bedroom. He gave silent thanks that he had taken Philip Simmons’s passport with him to Paris. If he hadn’t, Christina would have found it with the others.

They left for their daughters’ school an hour later and sat through a lengthy production of
The Taming of the Shrew.
Both girls were delighted that their father was there, but Christina did not tell them he had slept through most of the last act. They had wine and cheese with the other parents, then left. They listened to classical music on the car stereo rather than the news, and it was almost one in the morning by the time they reached home.

De Jersey was so exhausted he went straight to bed and fell into a deep sleep. Christina lay next to him, her eyes wide open, wondering how many other lies her husband had told her. She was so naïve, she realized, and this was the first time she had ever questioned their relationship or his past. She had never felt their age difference until now and wondered what he had done in the years before he met her. She looked at him now, sleeping like a baby, and felt intensely irritated. They hardly made love anymore, and he had not even kissed her good night. She flopped back on her pillow, the seeds of discontent continuing to grow.

Driscoll sat in the TV room with a large gin and tonic. He had been watching the news flashes, partly in amusement and partly in denial. They were not in the clear by any means. The biggest plus was that neither he nor Wilcox had been in trouble with the law before, so even if Maureen could describe them, she could look at mug shots until the cows came home: they were not in the books. The news flashes described the missing vehicles, and requests for information were repeated with numbers to call if anyone had information. A warrant had been issued for Westbrook’s arrest. A parade of debs and his associates were interviewed on the news, telling tales of his womanizing and dealings in high society. His face was becoming as familiar as Lord Lucan’s.

“What the hell were you doing all day?” Liz asked, setting down a bowl of raw carrots.

“Touting for business,” he said, then looked at her as she started to crunch a carrot.

“Christ, do you have to do that?” he asked.

“I’m on a diet.”

“Well, I’m hungry. I didn’t have time for lunch.”

She stood up. “What do you want?”

“Omelet. Nothing too rich. My gut’s giving me hell.”

“You should see another specialist. You want anything in the omelet or just plain?”

“Bit of cheese.”

“That’s fattening.”

“I don’t give a fuck!”

“Tony!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m trying to listen to the news.” Suddenly he felt gleeful. “You seen it?”

“I only just got in. I’ve been having a mud bath at the new hydro clinic.”

“Well, there’s been a big robbery.”

“Oh, I know about that. Sandra had the TV on. Do you want a side salad with your omelet?”

“Sure.” He watched her walk out of the room. He wondered how Sandra would feel if she knew her last customer’s husband had been in on the robbery of the Crown Jewels.

Shortly after Westbrook and Pamela arrived home, Pamela dyed her hair back to its usual auburn. Westbrook was on her sofa bed and continued to apologize for imposing on her, swearing that as soon as he recovered he’d make his own arrangements. He had a fake passport and cash to leave the country, but until he could stand up travel was out of the question. He watched the television all that day and night, but even the news flashes could not hold his attention and he dozed fitfully. Where on earth had they managed to get so many photographs of him, let alone of his so-called associates? He wondered where these close friends had been for the past year.

Wilcox arrived home in time for the twins’ birthday party, which he’d forgotten. It was a bit of a pain; all he wanted to do was relax and watch the news. But he blew up balloons and sat out with the kids as they ate sausages, eggs, and chips. He left the chaos for a while to go to the local video store. He returned, arms loaded with Mars bars, Smarties, cartoons, sci-fi films, and all the evening newspapers he could lay hands on. The headlines all told of the robbery, and everyone was talking about it, even in the video store. The public seemed to view it as sacrilege. Later in the evening he sneaked away to his bedroom to watch the late-night television news. The hunt for Westbrook was on, but as yet there seemed to be no clues as to the identity of the rest of the team. Nevertheless, they gave out descriptions based on what little they had to go on. Wilcox sighed with relief. He wanted to call Driscoll. He ached to hear how he was coping and became paranoid that the police had to be withholding evidence. He chopped up the last of his stash of cocaine, and Rika found him snorting it in the bathroom. They had a blistering row, which somehow eased his tension.

After they had made love, Rika lay beside him, her body glistening with sweat, and he leaned on his elbow, smiling at her. “The kids had a great day. Thank you. They get on really well with you, Rika. Dunno what I’d do without you, but they’re gonna go to boarding school soon. Their mother suggested they go and stay over with her for the next holidays and—”

She turned toward him. “Vhat you saying? You don’t need me no more?”

“No, I am not saying that at all.”

“Then vhy you say it?”

“No reason. Why do you question everything I bloody say?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Vhy vere you so late coming home? I told you I needed things for the party.”

“I hadda sell a car. In fact, I’m selling off most of them.”

Rika pouted. “You still got no money.”

“Yeah, but not for long.”

“Ve get married then? You marry Rika?”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah, maybe . . . Just let me get some kip. I’m tired out.”

Rika got off the bed and put on a robe. She tightened the belt and walked out. He sighed and picked up the remote control. He switched from one program to another and fell asleep with the remote still in his hand.

Not long after the robbery, the police discovered that the team had pulled the plugs on the panic alarms, and they backtracked through the coal chute to the warehouse base. It was two in the morning when they broke in with a search warrant. Now they had their next big lead. There, rotting in acid, was one of the Daimlers used in the heist. Fingerprint experts and twenty officers were shipped in to examine the warehouse inch by inch. They were also trying to find out who had rented the place, but it was a further five hours before they got the man’s name: Philip Simmons.

The day after the robbery, Her Majesty made an unprecedented broadcast, asking for the public’s assistance in apprehending the thieves who had taken the precious items of British heritage. The interview was followed by a documentary about the Crown Jewels, watched by 10 million viewers. That led to another breakthrough. An elderly man believed the Daimlers used in the robbery might have been the ones he’d sold in Leicester. He informed the police there had been two, and a chap had bought the lease on his garage more than six months previously. When questioned, he gave the best description of Wilcox his memory afforded him. The police matched the garage owner’s description to that of the driver Maureen had given.

They had also discovered that Philip Simmons had rented the Aldersgate warehouse. After questioning the estate agents who had negotiated the transaction, they had yet another description of the man they now believed had led the gang. It was confusing, though. Most of the negotiations for the warehouse had been done by telephone, but the agent who had shown de Jersey the property was unable to verify that he had red hair as he had worn a hat. As far as he could recall, he had no mustache. Although the description was sketchy, he confirmed that the man was tall and well built, and spoke with an upper-class accent.

Operation Crown’s initial hype was starting to fade. The description of Pamela had yielded no response. The police knew their biggest card would be the capture of Westbrook. The inquiry now fielded a force of over a thousand officers, all sifting through statements and calls from the public. Fifty telephone operators were working round the clock.

There had been hundreds of sightings of Westbrook on the day of the robbery and after the event. Some were at Heathrow Airport, some at the ferry in Dover, and others at various railway stations in the south. One caller said she was sure she had seen him on a train going to Plymouth with a blond woman. She also said he looked drunk or sick. As it had not been disclosed to the public that Westbrook had cancer, this was a valuable piece of information that might lead to the discovery of the lady-in-waiting too.