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‘Thank you, madam,’ the woman said, and checked the details on her terminal.
She asked Abby the usual security questions and tagged her suitcase. Then the bag jerked forward, fell over on the conveyor and disappeared from view.
‘Is the flight on time?’ Abby asked.
The woman looked at her screen. ‘At the moment, yes, it looks fine. Leaves at 3.15. The boarding gate opens at 2.40. It will be Gate 54. You’ll find the signs to the lounge after you’ve gone through security into the duty-free area.’
Abby thanked her, then checked her watch again. Butterflies were going bonkers in her stomach. There were still two more things she had to do, but she wanted to wait until closer to the time for both of them.
She went through into the BA lounge, helped herself to a glass of white wine to steady her nerves, craving a cigarette. But that would have to wait. She ate a couple of finger-sized sandwiches, then sat down in front of a television screen, with the news on, and went carefully through her mental checklist. She was satisfied she had not forgotten anything. But to be doubly sure she checked that her phone was set to withhold her number from anyone she rang.
Shortly after 2.40 she saw on the screen that boarding had commenced, but the flight had not yet been called in here. She walked over to a quiet section, by the entrance to the toilets, where there was no one nearby to overhear her, then dialled the number of the Incident Room that DS Branson had told her to use if she couldn’t reach him on his mobile.
As the phone rang, she kept her ears pricked for the ding-dong warning that preceded any ta
‘Incident room, DC Boutwood,’ a young female voice answered.
Abby disguised her voice as best she could, putting on her best shot at an Australian accent. ‘I have information for you on Ro
‘Bangkok Airways, Flight 271, Koh Samui at 11 a.m. local time tomorrow. Who is that calling, please?’
Abby hung up. She was clammy with perspiration and shaking. Shaking so much she found it hard to tap out the reply to the text she had received earlier, and had to backspace several times to correct errors before she finished. Then she read it through one more time before she sent it.
True love doesn’t have a happy ending,
because true love never ends. Letting go is one
way of saying I love you. xx
And she did love him. She loved him loads. But just not four million quid loads.
And not with this bad habit he had of killing the women who delivered money to him.
Sometime after take-off, she sat well back in her seat, having drunk a Bloody Mary and an extra miniature of vodka, and opened the bubble-wrapped Jiffy bag. The seat beside her was empty, so she didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. She checked over her shoulder to make sure none of the cabin crew were around either, then very gently eased one of the cellophane envelopes out.
It contained a block of Pe
That applied to a lot of other things in life too, she thought, through her pleasant haze of booze. And besides, who wanted to be perfect?
She gazed at them again, realizing it was the first time she had ever truly looked at them properly. They really were special. Magical. She smiled at them, whispering, ‘Goodbye, my little beauties. See you later.’
Then she put them carefully away.
125
‘Nice holiday?’ Roy Grace asked.
‘Very fu
‘Meant to be beautiful, Koh Samui, so I’ve heard.’
‘It was humid as hell and pissing with rain the whole time I was there. And I got bitten on my leg by something, either a mutant mosquito or a spider. It’s swollen right up – do you want to see it?’
‘No, thanks all the same.’
The Detective Sergeant, sitting on a chair in front of Grace’s desk, his suit and shirt looking and smelling as if he’d slept in them, shook his head, gri
‘And I can’t believe you trashed my fucking record collection again. I allowed you to stay there one night. I didn’t ask you to take every CD I own out of its sleeve and leave it lying on the floor.’
Branson had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘I was trying to sort it out for you. I got – shit – I’m sorry.’ He swigged some coffee and stifled a yawn.
‘So how’s the prisoner? What time did you get in?’
Branson glanced at his watch. ‘About 6.45.’ He yawned. ‘I reckon we’ve blown Sussex CID’s overseas travel budget for the year in the past two weeks.’
Grace smiled. ‘Did Wilson say anything?’
Branson swigged some more coffee. ‘You know, inasmuch as you can say such a thing, he actually seems a nice guy.’
‘Oh, sure. He’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet, right? He just has this slight problem that he prefers killing his wives to doing an honest day’s work.’ Grace gave his friend a look of feigned shock.
‘Gle
Branson nodded. ‘Yeah. I didn’t quite mean it the way I said it.’
‘You need to go home, have a sleep, then shower and come back later.’
‘I will. But actually he did talk a lot. He was in a philosophical mood and wanted to talk. I get the feeling he’s had enough of ru
‘Did you caution him before he started talking?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good man.’
It meant that anything Ro
‘Tell you something, he’s well furious with Skeggs. He wanted to be sure that if he was going down, he took Skeggs with him.’
‘Oh?’
‘As much as I can figure it from what he said, it seems like Skeggs helped him when he first arrived in Australia.’
‘As we thought,’ Grace said.
‘Yeah. At some point down the line, Ro
‘From his wife?’
‘He went evasive on me over that.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Anyhow, he gave them to Skeggs to sell them and Skeggs tried to screw him. He wanted ninety per cent of their value, otherwise he was threatening to shop Ro
‘In the boot of a car.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And the bird was one Abby Dawson?’
‘You’re sharp this morning, Detective Superintendent.’
‘I’ve had the benefit of a night’s sleep. So Ro
‘You’re on the monorail.’
‘Do you think he would have killed Abby once he’d got them back?’ Grace asked.
‘On previous form? Undoubtedly. He’s a vulture.’
‘I thought you said a few moments ago that he was a nice guy.’
Branson smiled in defeat. Then suddenly he changed the subject. ‘Bought a new car yet?’