Private London - James Patterson [54]
I could see why they had picked this time and place now. It was absolute chaos. The dancers didn’t seem to be in any hurry, mind. They were dancing and twirling, shouting and clattering sticks.
I’ve always hated Morris dancers. Now I wished I had packed some serious heat. Do the whole world a favour right there and then!
I looked at them. None of them was big enough to be Brendan Ferres. That was for sure. The guy with the collecting hat was tall but nowhere near as wide as Ferres and he was wearing black-rimmed glasses. One of the dancers in the middle didn’t seem too enthusiastic. Smaller-framed than the others. Hard to tell from this distance, but my guess was that it was Hannah. She was surrounded at all times. As one dancer twirled away another jigged in. They were corralling her.
Just as well I didn’t bring the shotgun. Like I said, I would have been sorely tempted to take them all down. Wasn’t my call, to make though, and the instructions from Harlan Shapiro through Jack Morgan had been explicit. No heroics. No improvisation. Just pay them the agreed amount and get Hannah home safe.
I put my hand in my pocket, putting it around the bag of diamonds, clasping it tight.
And then everything went to hell in a handcart.
Chapter 66
A LARGE GROUP of uniformed policemen came running past the dancers, heading straight for me.
DI Kirsty Webb followed closely behind.
The crowd milled past the dancers who had stopped dancing and were watching me. The lead dancer pointed his finger at me like the barrel of a gun and mimed pulling the trigger. Then they were lost in the huge crowd that surged around them. I tried to give chase but at that moment the riot police arrived and a wall of perspex shields and raised batons blocked my way.
‘What the hell are you doing here, Kirsty?’
‘We got a call!’
‘What are you talking about? Got a call from who?’
Kirsty held her warrant card up and led me past the riot police who were attempting to ‘kettle’ the demonstrators behind us.
‘Division got an anonymous call. Telling us the missing package will be delivered at the Robert Peel statue here at ten o’clock. We got here as fast as we could.’
‘Yeah, well, you just might have served her a death sentence.’
She glared right back at me. ‘You got the same message, I take it? Seeing as you’re here.’
‘Something like that.’
She shook her head. ‘When, Dan? When did you get the message?’
I didn’t answer.
‘You already knew, didn’t you? Last night, all the time you were fucking me, you knew! And you didn’t tell me.’
Kirsty slapped me across the face. Hard.
Felt like old times.
‘They said they’d kill her if the police were involved.’ I had to shout to be heard above the noise. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ I said.
‘Maybe you could have trusted me.’
‘The person who called it in – man or woman?’
‘Man.’
‘Accent?’
‘I don’t know, Dan. The woodentop who took the call just wrote it down and stuck it on my desk. Didn’t think it was important.’
‘“Woodentop” was an expression the kidnappers used.’
‘What, you think it was me?’ she snapped sarcastically.
‘Of course not – just thinking out loud.’
‘Seems to me you’ve left it a little late for thinking. We had a chance here. You should have told me.’
‘I would have done if I could.’
‘Doing the right thing isn’t exactly your strong point, is it, Dan?’
‘You didn’t seem to have any complaints last night.’
Kirsty snorted angrily. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to bring that up. You got me drunk on cheap brandy, is all. Doesn’t change anything.’
‘You don’t have to tell me!’
‘And you have got more serious things to worry about.’
‘Yeah, I do know that.’
‘Do you, though?’
‘You got a point to make, Kirsty, how about you spit it out?’
‘Somebody told us where the exchange was going