Royal Heist (45 page)

To which Gail replied, “No point, really, is there? I mean, he’s almost a national hero, according to the press, and they got the jewels back. It’s not as if he killed anyone.” She gave them a watery, blue-eyed stare as she closed the door.

“Do you believe that?” Rodgers asked Sara as they returned to their car.

She hesitated. “No, I don’t. I think he killed Sylvia Hewitt. I also think he might have killed Alex Moreno.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I know everyone thinks Edward de Jersey is some kind of hero, but to me he’s just a thief. Maybe he’s been one for many years, and the more I hear about him, the more I uncover, the more I get this nasty feeling about him. I wouldn’t trust him an inch, but if I met him I think I might just as easily fall in love with him. That’s why he’s so dangerous. I’m certain that if Alex Moreno did steal from him, he wouldn’t let him get away with it.”

Rodgers gave her a sideways glance. “Lemme tell you something, Sara. Maybe I think the same, but if we start an investigation in the United States, they’ll get in on the act. We’ve come a long way to catch this bastard, and I want to be the one who does. I’m retiring after this, and no one else is gonna get the credit. I’ll get this son of a bitch. I’m close to it. I know it.”

“Unless he’s in the U.S.”

He gave her a dull-eyed stare. “If he tries to get his hands on the Moreno property, we’ll know about it. I’ve got the contractor over there keeping an eye open for us. Right now, all I’m interested in is catching the bastard myself. I honestly think I know Edward de Jersey now, really know him. He’s a cold fish. He dumped his first wife and did the same with his second.”

“He does sound ruthless. To do that to his two daughters is just unbelievable,” Sara remarked.

Rodgers unlocked the car doors. “Yes, he’s ruthless, but he has one vulnerable area. I realize that now.”

“His daughters?” she asked, getting into the car and slamming the door.

He got in beside her. “No. Somewhere, somehow he was able to cut out normal, everyday emotions like that. Sure he must care about them, but the man is calculating. He spends months working out every little detail. The planning of that robbery was a work of art.”

“So what’s vulnerable about him?”

“His racehorse Royal Flush, and if my gut feelings are correct, the bastard won’t be able to stay away from the race of his life.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ve got a little straw number,” she said.

He frowned, not understanding.

“I’ll need a hat for the races.”

He gave an odd, snorting laugh. “Get a good one on expenses. If he’s there, he might be in the boxes. I’m thinking of getting kitted out with a top hat and tails.”

She laughed, and he turned to her with a scowl. “I’m not joking. If he’s there, the bastard won’t be crawling like a rat in and out of the punters’ legs, he’ll be moving with the high flyers—and, knowing the fickle aristos of this world, they’ll probably welcome him, just like they covered for Lord Lucan. They’ll think it’s all a good laugh.”

She nodded. “I hope to God the laugh’s not going to be on . . .” She was about to say “you” but instead she said “us.”

“It won’t be, I’m sure of it. He’s going to be there, and it’s not gonna be funny. He’s going to get thirty years just like the Great Train Robbers, and I’ll be right there watching him as he’s taken down. That’d wipe the smile off anyone’s face.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She smiled sweetly. “I wasn’t born when that happened, gov.”

“I was,” he said softly. “I remember it all. I was also around for the Gold Bullion Robbery.” He took a sharp breath. He had been about to say they had never caught the man nicknamed the Colonel, but he stopped himself, knowing he still could not prove his suspicions. But what a retirement bonus he would get if he could!

Two weeks before the race Rodgers asked Christina to be at the Derby. She tried to refuse, but he was insistent. Who would be better able to identify de Jersey than her? She did not want them to look too closely at her financial situation, so she agreed but did not tell her daughters. She looked over the invitations that had been sent to her and was touched by how many people had asked her to join them in their boxes. Until she had been contacted by the police, she had planned to refuse them all. Now she accepted one, saying how much she appreciated the hosts’ kindness in asking her and that she looked forward to seeing them.

The police operation was planned and outlined. They would have the racecourse covered with officers in plain clothes, mixing on the lower levels, wandering around the tick-tack men, hanging out in the oyster and champagne bars. They would be by the main Tote betting shop. They would even be up in the Royal balconies. They would be in the restaurants and private rooms. They would be, as Rodgers said, everywhere de Jersey might appear. They had installed several cameras at the finishing line, covering the winner’s enclosure, the owners’ and trainers’ sections in the stands, the bars, and the small helicopter landing pad. It was a massive operation to catch one man.

CHAPTER

29

I
t was after one of de Jersey’s morning walks that the unexpected happened. The beautiful weather at the beginning of June had changed to a thick, muggy heat, and the constant rain made the house cold and damp. The sound of the sea crashing against the rocks below, which usually filled him with a sense of freedom, now got on his nerves. Checking the calendar, he saw that there were only days to go before the Derby. For the first time since he had been on the run, he felt the loss of his family, the life he used to lead, and was enveloped in a deep depression. For months he had been moving and under pressure, but now he felt listless and empty.

He found it difficult to raise his head. The tears that had never come before now trickled down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. He could hear Christina’s voice when she told him she had found the Koh-i-noor Diamond in his boot. He had already planned his departure by then, as he knew they were closing in, but he had not anticipated what losing her or his daughters would feel like. Slowly he got to his feet and walked to the window. The mist hung there like a dark gray blanket.

He had no notion of what had shaped him into the man he was, and he did not know why he had done what he had done. The only thing in his life that had held him was winning. The emotion he felt when he saw his horses pass the post first was exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. He began to pace up and down the room. He’d got away with it, he was free, he had won, he would win again. But this was not about money, not about what he had stashed beneath the floorboards, not about what he would get from selling Moreno’s house.

As he paced, the darkness lifted. He’d give anything just to glimpse his beloved Royal Flush again. The adrenaline pumped into his body like a bolt of electricity. Gone was the restriction that felt like a tight band around his brain, gone the depression, and his body tingled. He snorted out a strange, guttural laugh, because it truly felt as if he had the last laugh. De Jersey knew they would all be waiting for him at the Derby. He also knew that if he showed up he would be arrested within moments, but it amused him to think of the furor it would create. And Bandit Queen would be not his future but his last laugh—even more so if Royal Flush won the Derby. Her colt or filly would be unstoppable.

He longed to attend the Derby, to hear the massive crowd. As at no other race meeting, they were as integral a part of the day as the race itself: the gypsies and punters, the tick-tack men, the boxes, the women in their extravagant hats, the men in their toppers and tails, the smell of chips, cockles and mussels, the pop of champagne corks. He had been taken there as a kid by his dad, thronging on Gypsy Hill with their East End friends and their beer and their picnic hampers. He had never thought then that one day he would be on the other side, greeted by the Queen. He could hear his father weeping with joy, cap in hand, as the horse he’d bet his life savings on romped home. His father had sworn that he would never lay another bet, that with his winnings on the rank outsider he would open his first betting shop. He had been true to his word. But the one race Ronnie Jersey would not miss for the world was the Derby. Now, to own the odds-on favorite, to have trained him, and to know in his heart that nothing was going to stop that horse passing the post first hit de Jersey harder than he would have believed possible.

“How’s my lady?” came the familiar voice to the stable girl.

“Is this Mr. Shaughnessy?”

“It is, just calling to check on my girl,” he said, and she could almost feel his smile through the phone.

“Well, sir, I have to tell you she’s incredible. She eats like a Trojan, and she’s getting to be a fair size. We had the vet check her out, and she should be out of quarantine soon. He thinks the foal’s gonna be a whopper, but she’s a big mare, and he thinks there’ll be no complications, even though she’s got another four months to go.”

“But she’s not too big?” he asked, with concern.

“He says there’s no worries, and we had her scanned as you wanted.”

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” he said abruptly.

The staff at the quarantine stables were somewhat surprised by the tall, gaunt man in his old overcoat. He drove up in an equally decrepit Jeep, covered in mud. He wore thick boots and looked as if he’d not had a good meal for a while, but his manner didn’t match his appearance. He was authoritative when he asked to be left alone to view his mare.

The word went round that Shaughnessy was at the stables, and they watched as he entered the manager’s office. There was a lengthy conversation, after which Shaughnessy returned to his Jeep, and drove off. The manager walked out, shaking his head. “He wants the mare and the foal shipped back to England when it’s born.”

“Where’s he living? Is he local?”

“Says he’s leased a house on Gardiners Bay up in the Springs, but he’s going back to London.” He checked his watch. “He’s cutting it fine. He’ll only just make it. Says he’s going back for the Derby.”

The Derby always drew a massive crowd. The Royal Family’s own security was tight. Their Daimlers and Rolls-Royces drew up, and the occupants were ushered out and into the Royal Enclosure. Their boxes were hemmed in by security guards and police. The same amount of security would be present in all the car parks surrounding Epsom, and extra officials had been hired to check and double-check all the passes. All major parties hiring buses and other means of transport were to be checked out, as were the gates, though monitoring the thousands entering the track would be difficult.

The Queen had a horse running. It was the second favorite. The favorite, with days to go, was still Royal Flush. It was hardly ever mentioned that the horse was now owned by the Sheikh. It was always referred to as the Royal Thief’s Horse.

The bookies would have a field day if Royal Flush didn’t win. The punters were betting on him frantically, and the bookies had been asked by the police if they would tip off any single bet that might have been laid by de Jersey. They retorted that it was against the privacy laws to disclose a private gambler’s bets, and any card-carrying member of Ladbrokes or any member of any of the established betting brokers would adhere to the code. The police did, however, gain possible confirmation from the United States that any substantial-size bet placed on Royal Flush from that side of the ocean would be reported.

Christina came from Sweden to stay at the Dorchester, giving herself time to purchase a new outfit. She had traveled alone and was met by officers at the airport in case she was pestered by journalists, but none were there. She moved into her suite. Alone in London, she felt a terrible sense of loss. If she saw de Jersey, she had no notion of how she would react. And if he did show, she was expected to give him up. Now she did not know if she could do it.

The officers were ready. It was still only an outside bet that de Jersey would turn up, but it was one on which Rodgers was risking his career. The cost of the investigation and the massive surveillance operation to take place at the racecourse were under review, as were his actions. He had rented his morning suit with his gray silk top hat. At least he would go down looking like a gent, or up looking like one, depending on the outcome of the day.

At last it was Saturday, June 8—Derby Day. The Derby was the fourth race. The first race had been over for twenty minutes, and the horses for the second were cantering to the start. There had been no sighting of de Jersey, but there was a bigger crowd this year than ever before, swelled by the press’s anticipation of a win by Royal Flush and the fact that everyone felt sure the most wanted man in Britain would be there. Some hoped to see a dramatic arrest. Others hoped he would be seen but get away.

De Jersey walked up to a rather drunken reveler and offered him two hundred pounds to exchange suits with him. When the man hesitated, he upped it to three hundred. They went into the men’s cloakroom, and while they switched clothes the flushed boy asked why he hadn’t got a suit already.

“Because I’m Edward de Jersey,” he said and walked out. He disappeared into the crowds.

The boy became hysterical. He forgot to do up his flies because he was so eager to find someone to tell and grabbed a uniformed officer, who tried to fight him off. “He’s here, that man they want, the guy from the jewel robbery!”

“What?”

“What about the reward? Will I get the reward? I’ve just seen him!”

“Oh, yeah, right, you and two hundred others, mate,” said the copper.

“I’m telling you the truth. He’s wearing my bloody suit.”

The rumors started, and the police were galvanized into searching the men’s cloakroom and surrounding areas, but by this time de Jersey had made his way over to the saddling area. He approached his former trainer. “Hello, Donald, it’s me.”

Fleming turned and almost dropped the saddle. “You’re crazy. The place is crawling with cops.”

“I know, but I wanted to give you this. It’s ownership of a certain horse. She’s in the States, Donald, in quarantine, and the foal’s doing well. The foal is yours and Mickey’s. It’s gonna make you both rich.”

Fleming didn’t know how to react or what to say. Suddenly he was close to tears. “I’ll tell Mickey. His wife’s pregnant and—”

De Jersey moved off without another word. Fleming had not even had time to shake his hand.

They had de Jersey on camera, heading out of the saddling area, but when they got there he had disappeared. The next sighting was at a booth selling cockles and mussels. He bought some and paid with a fifty-pound note, telling the vendor to keep the change. Rodgers, accompanied by Sara Redmond, was apoplectic.

The Derby runners were now being paraded in the ring as the jockeys came out to meet the owners and trainers. There was uproar as Royal Flush’s jockey walked out. No matter what he thought about his former boss being a jewel thief, de Jersey had secured him the ride as part of the contract, and Mickey wanted to show his respect. He rode out carrying de Jersey’s colors, holding the silk shirt high above his head. He waved it around madly before it was wrenched away from him by the Sheikh’s bodyguard, but it had been caught on camera, seen by the crowd and by TV viewers around the country.

The police continued searching for de Jersey, but it was like hunting for the Scarlet Pimpernel. He was sighted virtually all over the track as the riders assembled at the start.

Christina, in a box belonging to a major racing family, watched the television broadcast. It was obvious that de Jersey was there, but where? Very distressed, she sat down by the TV screen as an officer entered the box and asked if she had seen her husband.

“No, I haven’t. Please, leave me alone.”

He left, but two officers were positioned outside. If Christina walked out, they would be right on her tail, but she remained seated, holding an untouched glass of champagne, her eyes on the screen. When she had seen Mickey Rowland wave her husband’s colors, she had almost dropped the glass. The owners of the box had given up attempting to make her feel part of their celebrations. To some extent her presence made everyone anxious, and the thought that her husband might appear heightened their excitement to fever pitch. In the end Christina excused herself and said she was going to the cloakroom.

She knew she was being followed, and when she got to the ladies’ room she turned to the officers and gave them a charming smile. “I won’t be a moment, but I don’t think it would be in order for you to join me in here.”

She went into one of the cubicles, closed the door, and leaned against it. The tension was unbearable. She talked herself calm and walked out to look in the mirror. The face that gazed back at her was pale, and her eyes seemed overlarge. Her hands shook as she reapplied her makeup and adjusted her wide-brimmed hat. She took a deep breath and walked out. The two officers stood aside as she joined them. “I think I’d like to go and watch the race in the owners’ and trainers’ stand.”

“Okay, Mrs. de Jersey, but we will have to accompany you.”

“I understand.”

They moved off, and the crowds knew something was up. Even if they didn’t recognize the beautiful woman with two uniformed officers at either side of her, they moved aside to allow the three to pass. A steward tried to bar their entry, but the officers showed their ID. One used a walkie-talkie to report that Mrs. de Jersey had requested to watch the race close to the fence.

The horses were under starter’s orders, and the police now had twenty-five sightings of de Jersey. What they didn’t know was that he wasn’t in the boxes or on the balconies. Instead, he had made his way toward Gypsy Hill, where the buses, the funfair, and all the East End families were gathered. He stuck out like a sore thumb. No one else there was in top hat and tails, and folks started to call his name as they ushered him closer and closer to the rails to watch the race. Among his own people he felt at home, and they gathered around him in an almost protective circle.

One man pushed, shoved, and elbowed his way toward the tall figure. He had broken out in a sweat in his eagerness to get to de Jersey, to touch him, to let him know he was there.

“Eddy, Eddy,” he shouted, standing on tiptoe. He bent down and tried to squeeze between the pressing bodies. “Eddy.
Eddy!
” He could just see his quarry through the crowd.

“Eddy, it’s me!
I know him, let me through!
”

De Jersey, hemmed in by men and women, some asking for his autograph, did a half turn and saw the round, sweating face of Harry Smedley. “Let my friend through,” he said and raised an arm as Smedley reached his side.

“It’s me, Harry Smedley,” he gasped. “We was at school together. Remember me?”

De Jersey looked down and smiled. He still had no recollection of the little man. “Of course. Come on, Harry, the race is about to start.”

This was to be the greatest day of Harry Smedley’s life, standing right next to the most wanted man in Britain. His wife was not going to believe it, or his sons and grandsons. “I got two hundred quid on the nose,” he yelled as he was jostled and pushed.