Jack looked puzzled. “What do you want her for? She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“I’ve got a hunch, just humour me and you’ll see,” Dillon said, and was relieved when he could hear footsteps coming back along the hall. He opened the door wider for her as she came in. As he knew she would, Cassey went straight over to where Fox was still sitting. She heard the door close and a second later the click of the lock as the key was turned from the other side. She looked over her shoulder, and the penny dropped. Dillon had locked them in, and was now standing on the other side of the door in the hallway.
She started hammering on the door, and was again hurling a barrage of obscene language at him. “You bastard, what’s your game?”
“Chill out, Cassey. I’m just going to take a look around. When I’ve finished, I’ll come back and unlock the door, okay? Now you and Jack just stay cool.”
Dillon moved with a professional speed and thoroughness from room to room. He wasn’t sure how strong the lock in the games room was, which spurred him on even more. He found the study on the first floor next to the library. Inside, he found what he’d been looking for — a computer and all-in-one printer, scanner and fax. He worked as fast as he could.
Downstairs in the games room, Jack and Cassey were arguing, “But you’re not thinking, luv,” he bawled at her. “We can’t just tell him to piss-off, you know. It’ll attract too much attention, and then we’ll be well and truly done for.”
Tears of anger were running freely down over her cheeks. She walked across to the bar, poured herself vodka, didn’t ask Jack if he wanted one, and downed it neat, in one gulp. She picked up a snooker cue and walked back to the door to start hammering on it again. Only this time, it was much louder and much more persistent.
“Cassey, stop that. If you care about my freedom, you’ll stop that right now.”
She turned to face him.
“You’re letting him get away with turning our place over. And you don’t seem to give a damn.”
“Because there’s nothing for him to find here, that’s why.”
“Well I hope that you’re going to report him? Cheeky sod, coming here at this time of night.”
Jack smiled up at her.
“Of course I’m not going to report him, you silly mare. For two good reasons: One, I need the police on my side for the club licences. The last thing I need is aggro when they come up for renewal. And secondly, because I very much doubt that he’s a real copper anyway. They don’t usually carry firearms and they certainly don’t turn up on their own, always in twos at this time of the night.”
“He’s got a gun?” Suddenly she was frightened.
Jack stood up and put his arm around her shoulder.
“He made sure I caught a glimpse of it after I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know.”
“Then he might just kill us both if he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for.”
“I don’t think so. He could have done that already. Just stay calm, everything’s going to be okay.”
Neither of them had heard the key turn in the lock. Dillon had been gone from the house some few minutes before Cassey tried the door again. It opened and they both went out into the hall with some relief. The front door was ajar. Jack went up to the first floor to check the rooms, whilst Cassey moved through the ground floor. They both entered the living room together just as the phone started to ring on the side.
“Who the bloody hell is that now?” Jack strode across the room to the phone and picked it up.
“Yes, who is it?”
The colour drained out of his face and his tone changed instantly. Slumping down and into the nearest chair, he remained silent whilst the person at the other end spoke. Cassey could see that there was something wrong.
“No,” he said. “Nobody has been here tonight. Look, it’s late, and I want to get back to bed; okay?”
“Then who the hell was it walking down your driveway not more than ten minutes ago?”
“You’re kidding me. It must have been kids or something. Who else could it have been? Anyway, who’s been reporting on us?”
“I’ll take your word, Jack. It must’ve been kids messing about. I’ll say goodnight.”
“Goodnight then.”
At 4:55 a.m. that same morning, three men wearing white overalls pulled up in a silver van at the gated entrance to Jack Fox’s house. One of them got out and went straight to the security intercom. He unscrewed the metal casing, took off the front panel and expertly by-passed the wiring. A moment later, the gates opened and the van slowly moved off up the driveway. At the front of the imposing Spanish style residence, the driver remained behind the wheel whilst the other two men got out and went to work on the heavy oak door. Within thirty seconds, they’d managed to effortlessly pick the two locks.
They entered the house and crept up the stairs. On the landing, they upholstered their Walther PPK pistols and attached silencers. They located the master bedroom and entered. Both men moved to the foot of the large double bed, stood in silence, listening to the steady breathing of the couple lying together in the bed. They emptied their magazines into the two bodies. After the first shot, Jack opened his eyes and reactively placed an arm across Cassey in a futile attempt to protect her. Within seconds, the room was once again still and silent. All that remained of the violence was the heavy hanging smell of cordite and a light haze of gun smoke from the heated barrels of both men’s Walthers. Through tiny gaps in the window shutters, thin shafts of sunlight announced the dawn of the new day.
Jack Fox lay dead alongside his partner Cassey in the bed they had shared for the past two years. Blood had soaked through the mattress and was dripping onto the ivory-coloured carpet below. He’d lived his life by an unswerving code of conduct and had never once strayed from it. To grass-up anyone was to him an unthinkable act of treachery.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took Dillon no more than five minutes to walk back to where he had parked the Porsche, and then immediately drive back to where he’d just come from. Parking up the road from Fox’s entrance and far enough away so as not to be too conspicuous. He’d taken some information off of Fox’s hard drive which might be useful and his instinct was telling him to wait around a while. He sat pondering over why someone in Fox’s position would be so worried about a late night visitor. And why his visit alone could get him killed. Jack Fox was well connected and known for having been Flackyard’s enforcer. But, from what Dillon had seen, these days he was more interested in making the clubs earn a profit than anything heavy. Dillon also knew from his last encounter with the man, that he wasn’t the type to let anyone down and he felt a certain affinity to him. But villains like Jack Fox had to be ruthless to stay ahead of the rest, because if they didn’t they usually ended up jumping to the tune of a much bigger fish.
Bob Norton was different and something was nagging in the back of his mind about the connection between the two men. Jack would not have given away Bob’s name so freely. But the reverse was not true.
Dillon stayed in the Porsche and after an hour started to feel the onset of a cramp in his left leg. He was wondering what the hell he’d been thinking when he had decided to hang about outside of Jack Fox’s place. He was about to turn the ignition key and drive off, when he spotted a silver van coming down the road towards him. He saw the faint outline of three men in overalls sitting inside, and then it suddenly pulled into Jack Fox’s entrance. The sign writing down the side said Landscaping & Grounds Maintenance. One of the men got out and went to the intercom; it looked like he was talking into it. As he turned to walk back to the van, the gates opened and the next moment the vehicle drove off up the driveway. The gates remained open.