De Jersey looked around the room. “You’re certainly spending the money I’m paying you. Perhaps you should slow down a bit. You don’t want to make anyone suspicious about all this equipment you’ve got. You couldn’t buy it on your wages.”
“I’m watching my arse, don’t you worry.” Marsh swiveled round in his chair and looked at de Jersey. “Come on, what is it? There was no real need for you to come and see me today. What else do you want?”
De Jersey put his hand into his pocket and took out a thick envelope. “I need your help with something. Take a look at this. It’s D’Ancona’s visual display, the alarms, the panic buttons.”
Marsh grinned. “You’re something else, man, you really are.” He took the CD and put it into his computer. “Fuck me! How did you get hold of this?” he exclaimed.
“Inadvertently via you. You set the cat among the pigeons when you tried to hack in, so they had to check all their files, and I have my contacts.”
“This must have cost.”
De Jersey smiled. “Not really.” He tapped the screen. “My problem is this. I know how to get into this area here”-he pointed to the coal chute-“and I know that’s where we can get access to the panic alarms. But I don’t know how to deactivate them.”
Marsh’s mouth turned down as he peered at the screen. He scrolled down, then back up again. “Well, it’s simple enough to unplug lines from boxes-it’s just a matter of pulling them out.”
“I can tell there’s a but coming,” de Jersey said.
“There is, and it’s a big one. The second you pull any one of those plugs, all the others will activate and notify the call center. You’ll have every copper in London down there in a jiffy.”
“What do you suggest?”
Raymond tugged nervously at his cuffs. “I haven’t a clue. You’ll need to find a way to pull out all the plugs at the same moment. A fraction of a second out and it’s bye-bye Crown Jewels!”
There was a moment’s silence as the two men contemplated their predicament. Marsh clicked, and the interior of the safe house came up again on his screen. The silence was broken by his daughter, who started howling. He left the room, and de Jersey could hear him cooing and talking to her.
Then Marsh charged back in carrying the child. “I’ve got it! I think I know how we can do it-but she’s filled her nappy so I gotta change her.”
Rika had just put the twins to bed and was thumbing through the TV Times when the phone rang. She hoped it would be Jimmy. He’d been gone all day.
“Is Mr. Wilcox there?”
“No, he not back yet.”
“My name is Sylvia Hewitt. Could you ask him to call me? He has my number. Tell him it’s quite urgent, would you?”
“Who?”
“Sylvia Hewitt. Are you expecting him this evening?”
“Yes, I tell him you call. Sylvia who?”
“Hewitt. Please give him the message.”
Rika got a pen and notepad. She started to write down the message then crumpled the paper and threw it into the bin. She was sure this Sylvia Hewitt was after her man. She had spoken so rudely, as if Rika was the maid.
De Jersey left Marsh’s house grinning from ear to ear. A taxi passed him, slowing down. The inside was lit, and de Jersey saw that the blond-haired Mrs. Marsh was paying the driver. She had a vast array of boxes and bags, all with the Harrods logo. He watched until she had entered the house, and then, as the cab made a U-turn, he stepped out and flagged it down.
He asked to be driven to Wimbledon Station, and the driver beamed. “That’s lucky. I’ve just come from Knightsbridge. Didn’t reckon I’d get another fare back.” He switched on the clock.
“That was some shopping your last fare had,” de Jersey said.
“Don’t know where they get the dosh. Took two Harrods doormen to load me up. Said her husband had made a killing on the horses. Wish he’d give me a few tips.”
De Jersey sat back against the seat as his driver gave a monologue about his lack of luck on the tracks. “You a racing man?” he asked eventually.
“No, I’m not,” de Jersey replied.
“Best way to be. It’s a fool’s game,” the driver said, then turned to glance at de Jersey. He was sitting in the shadow, his face virtually in darkness. “Not a gambling man, then, eh?”
“No.”
“Don’t take risks, eh?”
“No, I don’t like risks.” He closed his eyes.
21
De Jersey was loath to do it, but he cut down on some more staff and sold six more horses. The yard was rife with rumors. All were concerned for the stable’s future and their jobs, so no one felt it odd that just as the racing season was starting de Jersey was spending more and more time away. Fleming had told them only that he was in financial difficulty. However, de Jersey was monitoring Royal Flush as diligently as ever: he was now relying on the great horse to achieve big results. Luckily he had consistently improved during training, even if his temperament in the stable had not. If he felt like it, he could fly on the flat, but he was often a slow starter, not kicking in until halfway through the run, when Mickey said he could feel the animal’s mood change. One moment he was sluggish, the next Mickey could hardly hold him. There was not a horse in the yard that could keep up with him.
De Jersey received a call from Pamela. Lord Westbrook’s health had deteriorated and she suggested de Jersey visit him. De Jersey thanked her and hung up. He swore under his breath. Just as he thought everything was under control, something else had gone wrong. Christina had mentioned a phone call from Sylvia Hewitt, and both Wilcox and Driscoll said the woman had called them.
“I had to fish the fucking message out of the bin. Rika’s convinced I’m fooling around with her,” Wilcox told them.
“Leave it with me,” de Jersey said. “I’ll go and see what she wants.”
“Maybe her money,” Wilcox suggested.
It was just over two weeks to go, and Raymond Marsh had been busy. So had his wife. His purchases ranged from two dozen handmade silk shirts, suits, and shoes to computer accessories, TV sets, and furniture. Marsh was preparing to leave the country. After the robbery, he would decamp to South America. His credit-card frauds were reaching ludicrous proportions, but he needed hard cash to ensure that his departure was paid for and he had funds in hand. His house was on the market. He had not thought of how his behavior might affect de Jersey. Only one of the stolen credit-card numbers had to be recognized for him to be arrested for theft.
De Jersey still had not made contact with Sylvia, and Christina took another call from her.
“This is Sylvia Hewitt. Mrs. de Jersey, would you please ask your husband to return my call? When I said it was urgent I meant it.”
Christina found her attitude most objectionable. “What is this about, Miss Hewitt?”
“Alex Moreno. Tell him I have some interesting information concerning a man called Philip Simmons.”
As before, Sylvia hung up abruptly. Christina couldn’t understand why the woman had been so rude.
In Monaco, Paul Dulay was ready. His boat was crewed up, and the engine had been tested. The weeks before the Crown Jewels fitting dragged, but his workrooms were prepared. Everything was ready for the green light.
He was sitting outside a harbor café in Monte Carlo, on his third coffee, when de Jersey approached.
“You’re late,” Dulay said. “I’ve been here over an hour.”
“Sorry. I was looking over your boat.”