48 Hours

The Commissioner tried to cool the atmosphere down.

“I quite understand that you are both disappointed, but there is no value in formally charging him today. We have agreed that he will stay within the confines of Westminster until Monday. Then, when we open the safety deposit box, as we surely will, we may find evidence that ties him into one or more of the deaths. At present he knows that he can’t escape the Hammond blackmail charges, but he might just squirm out of the other two charges unless we can tie him to the painting and the cash. Take the weekend off. He’ll still be here on Monday.”

Coombes muttered loud enough for the other two to hear. “I bloody well hope so, for all our sakes.”

Chapter 56

No. 2 Parliament Street, London. Friday, 7pm.

At the start of the day, Lord Hickstead could never have imagined how rapidly it would deteriorate, nor how quickly everything would begin to unravel. He had been so careful. Why had he allowed them to take his fingerprints after the mugging? Complacency, arrogance, everything he despised in others. He was evidently no longer the driven individual who had fought his way up from a rented house in Yorkshire to a seat in the House of Lords.

There were too many sycophants around him, telling him he was wonderful, powerful, influential and almost invincible. When he had embarked on the blackmail plot, he had convinced himself that it was a fight for justice. He wanted to right the wrongs which had destroyed him financially and robbed him of the opportunity of national recognition and, possibly, high office. His dear wife, Brenda, had sunk into a deep depression after the house fire, and his u

What had begun as a righteous crusade had become an exciting, dark alternative life that set the heart racing and the adrenaline pumping. He had, quite simply, got carried away, and had gone too far.

Sir Max was a buffoon, but everyone knew it. He didn’t carry the respect of his peers, just that of his blind followers. Arthur had killed him because he wouldn’t pay a small fraction of his fortune to save his own life, and because he had insulted Arthur Hickstead one time too many.

Andrew Cuthbertson had asked for it. He was weak, and he would have exposed Arthur and sent him to jail. As for Richard – well, the man was a pervert.

The odd thing was that the person he had expected most trouble from was the foul mouthed Don Fisher, and yet the singer had paid up quickly and just let it go. The Peer certainly hadn’t been expecting Josh Hammond to begin a witch hunt for his blackmailer. For heaven’s sake! He’d only lost a quarter of a million. He would probably make that back in bonuses within a couple of years.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that Andrew Cuthbertson had been right; Josh Hammond was the real danger in this scenario. None of the others had called in the police or threatened Andrew Cuthbertson. His alter ego, Bob, hadn’t been worried about police involvement because he had covered his tracks expertly. No, it was Hammond’s fault that his life had begun to fall apart.

Lord Hickstead felt the anger rising inside him, but concluded that submitting to rage now would be counter productive. He walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself three fingers of single malt whisky.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he saluted himself with the raised glass and swore an oath.

“I will not follow Jeffrey Archer out of the House of Lords and into prison.”

***

An hour later the Peer had formulated a plan that he couldn’t execute, and so he recovered the ‘pay as you go’ phone he had been using for the purpose and pressed the only number on speed dial. The phone rang out at the other end in long continuous tones, unlike UK phones. Eventually it was picked up, and Hickstead spoke urgently.

“You know who this is. I need your help and I’m willing to pay for it.”

Chapter 57

Ashburnham Mews, Greenwich, London. Friday, 11:30pm.

I lay in bed looking at Dee’s back; she was wearing a short strappy nightdress, similar in style to the dresses that many young girls would probably have worn going out to a nightclub. Her neck and shoulders looked so smooth and inviting that I wanted to kiss them, but she was asleep and I didn’t want to wake her after another long and busy day.

Despite the hectic day, we had spent the night eating, drinking, and what passes for dancing. We had just one more night left together before she moved back into her flat. We were both due to be back at our desks on Monday, and Dee had lots to catch up on at home during Sunday.

Tomorrow night I would buy some take-away, chill some beers and we would snuggle up on the sofa before going to bed, where I intended to make love to her until the early hours of the morning.

After that, who could say? Tentatively we had arranged to stay over at each other’s flats every weekend, but I had a feeling that it would not be enough for either of us. Was it too early to ask her to move in? I had known her for just a week or so, but it seemed like so much longer. And what a week it had been.

I wasn’t sure how easily sleep would come for me tonight, but I guessed that it would come a lot more easily for me than for Lord Hickstead.

Chapter 58

Commercial Road, Tottenham, North London. Friday, 11:30pm.

“You know, this is insane, Dave. We never do a job with this amount of pla

Dave merely grunted in reply. He seldom knew what to say in these circumstances. Joh

The industrial unit seemed dark and forbidding at this time of night. Dave’s kids would have referred to it as spooky. The overhead lighting was adequate, but that was about all. Deep shadows fell across the floor. At one time this place had been a service centre for the electrical generators which ran the London Underground, but these days it was a printing press.

Dave and Joh

The sign above the doors read Tottenham Press (2005) Ltd, mainly because the owners had allowed the old Tottenham Press to go bust to screw their creditors, only to set up in business again the following week with new directors.

During the working week the press turned out brochures, magazines, business cards and letterheads at almost cost price, but at the weekend it was a different story. On a Saturday and Sunday the special presses were ru