Private London - James Patterson [67]
‘Ex.’
‘RMP?’
‘You’re pretty good at this.’
‘You’re with him.’ He nodded at PC Smith. ‘You walk like military. Hold yourself like military. Reckon you could handle yourself if push came to shove.’
‘It has been known.’
‘So what do you want with me?’
‘We’ve got a couple of questions for you, major.’
‘I wasn’t there,’ he said. Then his body convulsed in a hacking cough, soup spilling onto the step. He shuffled sideways, away from it.
‘We’ll get you some more,’ I said.
‘I still wasn’t there,’ he mumbled, looking at the floor. His eyes were slightly out of focus now.
‘Weren’t where?’
He looked up at me, his eyes brightening again.
‘See, it’s courts. Wallahs in wigs …’ he said. ‘I see nothing, I don’t have to report, see?’
I did see. ‘It’s okay, major, you talk to us and you don’t have to talk to anybody else. No courts, no police.’
‘Your word? Officer and gentleman?’
‘My word.’
‘The van was there. The two girls walked up to it. They heard that other girl calling them. Then it all went mad.’
‘They didn’t see you?’
‘No one sees the major. Not if he doesn’t want to be seen.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Special training, you know.’
‘So what did you see?’
‘The first two, they were chatting with the men in hoods, then they pretended to be attacked. Screaming as the other girl came round the corner and started fighting.’
I felt as though someone had punched me in the gut. I’d been played for a fool. We all had. All along.
Hannah Shapiro had set the whole thing up. I’d taken her spiel and swallowed it – hook, line and sinker.
Harlan Shapiro had been the real catch all along and she had been the perfect bait. Perfect for Jack, perfect for me and perfect for Harlan.
Guilt. It’s a powerful motivator.
And a deadly one.
Chapter 84
KIRSTY WEBB AND DI Natalie James stood in front of the exposed safe.
Looking for a series of numbers that would open it, they had been through Chappel’s diary and every bit of paperwork.
Nothing.
DI Webb was convinced that they would be written down somewhere. They always were. When it came to passwords or codes, the public were pretty bad like that.
It was like leaving a key under the doormat, or in a wellington boot on the back porch, or under a flowerpot as millions of people throughout the country did. Might as well just leave the door wide open and a welcome mat for burglars to wipe their feet on.
Kirsty nibbled on a thumbnail, then pulled out her mobile and tapped in some numbers.
‘Dan,’ she said when it was answered, ‘I need your mate Gary’s number.’ She listened for a moment. ‘I’ve got a safe that needs opening, that’s why! It’s a combination dial. And I can’t find the code anywhere … okay, I’ll try that and call you back if I need you.’
‘Who was that?’ asked DI James after she hung up.
‘My ex-husband.’
‘That wise?’
‘I certainly wasn’t wise marrying him.’
‘I meant telling him what you’re up to.’
‘He runs a private detective agency. He’s been helping me.’
DI James threw her a pointed look. ‘Like fast-tracking DNA identification.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘So forth and suchlike.’
‘And this Gary – he’s a security consultant for him?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Must be some agency to run a DNA check that fast, and with the Romanian police.’
‘He’s with Private International.’
‘Yeah. They have resources,’ DI James said dryly. She nodded at the safe. ‘So what’s he suggest?’
‘That we try his date of birth. Most common numeric aide-memoire, apparently.’
‘Aide-memoire, you say?’
‘Dan’s been to college. Thinks he’s smart.’
‘And is he?’ DI James pulled out her notebook and flicked through a couple of pages.
‘He’s smart in some areas, dumb as a box of rocks in the ones that count.’
DI James stepped up to the safe and spun the dial clockwise and counterclockwise a number of times. She paused and tried the handle.
Nothing.
‘Try his number plate,’ Kirsty suggested.
DI James flicked through her notebook, spun the dial again a few times and turned the handle.
Open sesame.
Inside was the laptop that the optician had placed there earlier. DI James reached in took it