It was obvious that at one time she had been beautiful, but she had not aged well. She had tinted blond hair, arched eyebrows, and vivid blue eyes. She seemed to prefer to talk about herself rather than her connection with de Jersey. She had married young and soon realized that he wanted her more for her contacts than for love. Her father had owned estate agencies around Chelsea and Fulham, and de Jersey had taken over the running of them. Following the death of her father, he had control of the business. She was still disgruntled, despite the generous divorce settlement she had received.
“Did he buy the estate then?” Rodgers asked.
Gail shrugged.
“It was worth forty million,” he said softly, and her jaw dropped.
“The lying son of a bitch. Forty million! Jesus Christ.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
“Can you tell me anything about his background, his family?” asked Rodgers.
“His father was a bookie. He apparently made a killing on Derby Day, which enabled him to open his first betting shop, but apart from that I know nothing. In fact, oddly enough, Eddy didn’t have many friends. Forty million! I know the estate must have increased in value since he bought it, but it’s just unbelievable. He told me he only earned fifty thousand a year from Daddy’s business.”
Rodgers’s theory that de Jersey had acquired the estate using illegally procured funds seemed to hold water, and a knot of excitement formed in his belly. “So where do you think he got the finance to purchase it?” he asked, tentatively.
“I have no idea. He sold all Daddy’s agencies, so probably from them. I really don’t know. He always had money, though, very good at investments. He remarried some model young enough to be his daughter.”
“Did you ever hear anyone refer to him as the Colonel?” he asked.
“The Colonel?” Gail repeated. “He went to Sandhurst for a while but got kicked out. Injured his knee or something. He was always complaining about it, but that was his only Army experience. He was never a colonel. Though, knowing him, I wouldn’t put it past him to say he was. He may have played one once, I don’t really know.”
“Played one?” Rodgers asked.
“His mother was in some amateur dramatic society, and he used to be in their productions when he was a kid. I don’t know much about it, but he had some photographs of himself in costumes and wigs. He didn’t do it when he was married to me. Too keen to get on Daddy’s good side.” She stood up and looked toward a small antique desk. “I’ve got a photograph, I think. I’m sure I have.”
She opened a drawer and began searching for a photograph album. “I’m sure I had it somewhere.” She looked around the room, then crossed to a bookcase.
“Did you ever meet James Wilcox?”
“James?” Gail asked. “Yes, I knew him from the days we used to hang out in the clubs. He introduced me to Eddy.”
“Tony Driscoll?”
“I read about him in the papers, but I never met him.” She continued searching along the shelves, then pointed to a row of books. “There it is.”
Sara, who was taller than Gail, reached up and took down a leather-bound album. She handed it to Gail, who began to turn the pages.
“Maybe I’m wrong. After he left I made a point of throwing out anything connected to him. Ah! I’ve no idea why I kept this, but here it is.” She lifted the plastic covering off three black-and-white photographs. “It’s a production he was in when he was a kid. See for yourself. He’s standing at the end of the row.”
Rodgers looked at the picture.
“They did A Christmas Carol. He’s the one next to the little boy on crutches.”
Rodgers could see no resemblance to the man he was hunting in the tall, thin boy standing shyly to one side. He turned the picture over, and scrawled on the back were the names of the actors in the show. He passed it to Sara. The one listed as playing Tiny Tim was H. Smedley, and de Jersey had written “Me” for himself. She gave the photograph back to Gail. “Thank you.”
Rodgers knew instinctively that Gail didn’t have any more useful information so he stood to leave and thanked her for her time. But she hadn’t finished her tirade. “He walked out on me, you know. He never had the guts to say to my face that he was leaving. I woke up and found he’d packed and gone. The worst part was that he’d been preparing to leave me for ages. My lawyers said he must have spent at least six months arranging it all. That’s what kind of person he is, a devious liar.”
Rodgers murmured his thanks again, then said, “Well, I hope we catch him this time.”
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.”