The impossible fortune, p.28
The Impossible Fortune, page 28
Davey nods. ‘My money amounted to around thirty-one million pounds.’
‘Okay,’ says Joyce. ‘That’s … okay.’
‘Nothing like enough to compensate Holly and Nick. Holly rang me, told me she wanted to meet, and I thought, here we go.’
‘You were going to tell her?’ asks Paul.
Davey nods. ‘I was all ready to come clean, and then she tells me about the car bomb –’
‘And events overtook you,’ says Ibrahim.
‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ agrees Davey.
‘So the piece of paper we took from the safe this afternoon?’ says Elizabeth.
‘Completely worthless,’ says Davey. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’
70
Ron puts his hand in his pocket and closes his fingers around a piece of paper worth three hundred and fifty million quid.
Danny Lloyd is sweating. Mainly because he has clearly taken an awful lot of cocaine.
A man who hates you, high on cocaine, pointing a gun at your face. Even for a West Ham fan this is uncomfortable territory.
‘Come to pick on a man for once, have you, Danny?’ Ron asks.
‘Shut up, Ron,’ says Danny. ‘And give me the Bitcoin.’
‘The Bitcoin?’ Ron asks.
‘The Bitcoin,’ repeats Danny. ‘You’re about to learn the oldest rule in the criminal’s book, Ron. Never trust Connie Johnson. She was on the phone to me as soon as you hatched your plan. You really thought she was going to share the money with you?’
Ron shrugs. ‘No, I knew she wasn’t.’
‘We were having a good laugh about you this afternoon,’ says Danny.
‘Well, it’s good to laugh, isn’t it?’ says Ron. ‘That’s important.’
‘Give me the piece of paper, Ron,’ says Danny.
‘If I give you the piece of paper, you’ll kill me,’ says Ron.
‘Maybe I won’t,’ says Danny. ‘It’s a lot of money.’
‘What’s she paying you?’ says Ron.
‘A lot,’ says Danny.
‘I’m flattered,’ says Ron. ‘But she’s not paying you to nick the Bitcoin off me; she could have just taken it off me this afternoon. She’s paying you to kill me.’
‘Same difference to me,’ says Danny. ‘Business and pleasure, to be honest. You’ve never liked me, eh, Ron?’
‘Has anyone?’ Ron asks. ‘You got any friends who don’t work for you? What a weak, angry little man you are. I’ve had a lifetime of people like you.’
‘The Bitcoin,’ says Danny.
‘What’s in it for me?’ says Ron.
‘Nothing,’ says Danny.
‘Jesus, Danny, you’re stupid as well as weak. If you’re going to kill me, I got no incentive to tell you where the Bitcoin is, do I? That’s basic stuff, old son.’
Ron looks at his son-in-law. This handsome, pathetic man. This muscled weakling his daughter fell in love with. My God, kids are nothing but trouble.
‘So,’ says Ron, ‘we negotiate. You give me what I want; I tell you where the Bitcoin is. Then you can kill me.’
Danny is sniffing and sweating. The gun is shaking slightly, but Ron knows that Danny has used guns before. When he pulls the trigger, he won’t miss.
Danny nods. ‘What do you want?’
‘Couple of things,’ says Ron. ‘You never see Suzi again. And no lawyer’s letters, anything like that either. You leave her be.’
‘Done,’ says Danny. ‘Pleasure, in fact.’
Ron had once pulled a cracker with this man at Christmas.
‘Next,’ says Ron, ‘you never see Kendrick again. Even when you’re an old man in prison somewhere, you let him grow into a real man.’
‘Done,’ says Danny. ‘But I’m never going to prison again. Too smart for all that.’
‘And last of all,’ says Ron, ‘you call off the hit on Suzi, Kendrick, Jason. All rid of you for good.’
‘Sure,’ says Danny. ‘For the Bitcoin.’
‘And I can trust you?’ says Ron.
Ron sees that even Danny’s palms are sweaty. One slip on that trigger and he’s dead.
‘You can trust me,’ says Danny.
Ron nods. ‘Prove it.’
‘Uh?’ says Danny.
Ron remembers the two of them lying on the floor, helping Kendrick build a Lego fire station. ‘Firemen are all right,’ Danny had said to his young son. ‘They might look like cops, but they’re not.’
‘Who did you hire to kill Jason?’ Ron asks.
‘Ron, we don’t grass,’ says Danny.
Grassing. The greatest crime of all.
‘Then ring him for me,’ says Ron. ‘Ring him now, tell him the hit’s off. You give me Jason’s life back, and you can take mine.’
‘I could be ringing anyone,’ says Danny.
Ron thinks about this for a few moments. Long enough to come up with the plan at least.
‘Stick it on speaker,’ says Ron. ‘Let me listen. If I’m convinced it’s the man you hired to kill Jason, you’ve got the Bitcoin.’
Danny likes this trade-off. Ron wonders what Elizabeth would make of all this. He saw exactly what she did for Stephen. Exactly how far she would go for her own loved ones. She of all people would understand.
Danny is scrolling through his phone but coming up blank. He takes a different phone from his pocket and starts scrolling through that instead.
Joyce? What would Joyce think? Ron remembers the time a swan had chased after Alan. Poor little dog was terrified. To this day, whenever Joyce goes to feed the swans, she makes absolutely certain the swan who chased Alan gets nothing. Ron asked her how she could tell the swans apart and Joyce said it was easy, just look for the evil one.
So, yeah, Joyce would get it too.
Danny has found the number, and his phone is now on speaker. One hand is on the phone, the other still pointing the gun at Ron. Ron hears a metallic ring through the speaker.
Ibrahim? If they found Ron dead, what would Ibrahim think? Ron can’t find an easy way through that one. No Stephen, no swan. Just his best mate, lonely. Would Ibrahim forgive him? It doesn’t really matter, because Ron is not sure he could ever forgive himself. If he gets through this, he’s going to tell Ibrahim exactly what he means to him. Neither of them will enjoy it, but he’ll do it anyway.
If he gets through this. Danny’s call is answered.
‘Bobby.’
‘Bobby, it’s Alpha 4.’
‘I’m working on it. It’ll be done.’
‘Mission off. Release target.’
At this the voice on the other end starts to drop the forced military tone.
‘What about my twenty grand, Danny? You said ten upfront and twenty when Ritchie was dead?’
Danny looks at Ron. Ron gives him a firm nod.
‘You’ll get your twenty grand.’
‘And your wife? We’re not going to kill her either?’
This time Danny doesn’t look at Ron.
‘That’s off too.’
‘But do I still get twenty grand for her too? I’ve done a lot of planning.’
‘Sure, sure. You’ll get the full fifty, but don’t kill either of them.’
Easy day’s work. ‘Thanks, Danny. Alpha 4, thanks, Alpha 4.’
Danny now risks a glance at Ron. Ron nods again, letting him know the conversation was acceptable. So he was going to kill Suzi too? Of course he was. Ron will never be able to lose the image of Suzi, with her bruised eye, her nose and cheek starting to swell and shine. That’s what this animal standing in front of him had done. Of course he would kill her. That’s what animals do.
With his steroid-built muscles and cocaine-funded suits, Danny had always looked to Ron like a child’s drawing of a man. He recognizes now that Danny himself was the child who had done the drawing. He had turned himself into someone that would never have to face his own weakness and vulnerability, who ran from all the things that turn real little boys into real men. In front of Ron was a wholly fake man, an absence of anything real or true. But a man whose actions had real-life consequences. That bruised eye was real, even if the fist behind it had been constructed from bravado and thin air.
‘Happy?’ Danny asks.
‘You were going to kill Suzi too?’ Ron asks.
‘That’s how it works,’ Danny says. ‘Law of the jungle.’
‘You grew up in Kent,’ says Ron. ‘You chose your own law. You hired someone to kill my son, and you hired the same man to kill my daughter?’
‘And now I’m swapping them both for killing you,’ says Danny. ‘The Bitcoin, please.’
Ron pushes himself up from the armchair and heads for the bedroom. At first Jason hadn’t even told him about Suzi. Hadn’t wanted to upset an old man. Didn’t think Ron could protect her. But Ron is an old lion, and old lions will always protect their young. Whatever it might take. Jason took him and Kendrick to see Suzi first thing this morning. They talked, the whole Ritchie family. They talked; they cried.
From the moment Ron had seen the photograph of Suzi, he knew he would sacrifice anything to save his daughter. And that’s exactly what he is about to do. The greatest sacrifice of all.
Ron pushes open the bedroom door, and three armed police officers in bulletproof vests and helmets run, screaming, into the room.
‘Armed police, armed police, drop your weapon, drop your weapon!’
He hears the commotion continue as Pauline gives him a hug.
‘You did great,’ says Pauline. ‘I’m proud of you.’
Ron looks back through the open doorway.
Danny Lloyd, after his full and frank confession, is lying on the ground being handcuffed. Connie Johnson had delivered him, just as she had promised. What happens next to the money, God only knows, and who killed Holly Lewis remains a mystery, but, just for now, Ron’s job is done.
One of the armed officers removes his helmet and gives Ron a thumbs-up.
DCI Chris Hudson. Ron has missed the big lunk.
‘Thanks, Chrissy boy,’ says Ron. ‘Nice gun.’
It’s important to have principles, it really is, but, Ron reflects, as he sees Danny being led away, face contorted in anger, he knows he did the right thing. He, Suzi and Jason had talked about it and talked about it. He and Connie had talked about it and talked about it. How to stop this man who had hit his wife.
In the end it was Kendrick. He’d overheard a conversation Ron and Jason had with Chris and Donna, and he, as so often with Kendrick, had an opinion on it, and in the end Ron had picked up the phone to DCI Chris Hudson, because they had all reached the same conclusion.
There are worse crimes than grassing.
THE NEXT SIX WEEKS AND FOUR DAYS
71
Even on a mild August evening the English Channel is choppy. The little cruiser meets each new crest with dread, and each new fall with relief. Lord Townes is glad he isn’t going far.
He’s not bad with boats; once had one of his own down at the Marina in Brighton. Eighty-footer, couple of sleeping cabins, hot tub on the aft deck. He’d taken it as far as Santander once, but at the last minute his proposed companion, a woman he’d got talking to at golf, had come down with flu and he’d made the crossing alone.
His boat was called Bonus 98, because that’s what paid for it.
This current craft belongs to an old pal, Leonard, who made several tens of millions in zinc derivatives and is currently in prison due to a misunderstanding over the tax that was subsequently due. Leonard is learning Mandarin to pass the time in prison, because China’s the future.
Gosh, the future, there’s a funny thought. How important the future is, until the day it isn’t.
Fate, luck, accident, whatever it is that tosses your life around like the Channel is tossing around the little cruiser. They say you can’t control it, but Robert must politely disagree. He knows a way.
The box Robert took from The Compound is safely stowed in the cabin of this little cruiser. His insurance has always been there.
The night is cloudless, which is a nice touch. The sky is a blue granite, and the sea a blood black. It is streaked with moonlight, twisting like a ribbon on the waves.
It was just the latest in a long line of fortune, the Bitcoin. When Holly and Nick had taken him into their confidence, Robert had kept a straight face and a professional air, but he felt saved. He could have screamed for joy. Something always turned up.
Just the commission on a deal of that size would have kept the hall running for years to come. Would have repopulated the place with cooks and gardeners and drivers. Would have seen Robert nicely through the next twenty years, and he could have popped his clogs in peace and everyone would have agreed what a jolly good chap he was. The portraits would have nodded to him as he walked through the warm house. ‘Skin of your teeth, old boy!’ they’d have said. ‘The Townes magic strikes again!’
He was born into an impossible fortune; all he had had to do was not waste it.
Something has always cropped up when Robert needed it most; he has grown used to it. The Bitcoin bonanza was simply the last cab on the rank. A place opening up at Oxford at the last minute, despite his appalling A-level results. The bank that wasn’t recruiting suddenly needing an extra pair of hands. His father dying young. A string of good fortune, upon which Holly and Nick’s visit was just the latest pearl to be threaded.
He became reacquainted with his old friend, optimism, read up all he could on Bitcoin, just to ensure he wouldn’t come across as a complete buffoon. Then he’d paid a visit to some old chums of his up in town, and they all seemed jolly pleased to see him, as well they might, with three hundred and fifty million under his watchful command. All seemed well with the world again. Lunch at someone’s club, little snooze on the train home and a taxi from the station, because why not?
And of course he checked the prices, checked and rechecked what his three per cent transaction fee might be worth. When he had last checked, it had been worth, and he had written this down, ten point five million. He went to bed smiling, and woke up to the news of Holly Lewis’s murder. He then rang Nick Silver, but to no avail. The man had gone missing, and so, it seemed, had the opportunity.
Robert goes into the cabin and switches off the engine. This is as good a place as any. He is far from shore, but Robert has been far from shore for a long time now. He takes the wooden box from the cabin and brings it out onto the deck. He sits on the bare boards and, with his feet dangling from the side of the boat, opens it. He thinks back again to the events of the last few weeks.
When all had seemed lost, Robert did what he was best at: he crossed his fingers and hoped for the best. Perhaps Nick Silver would reappear and all would be well? Perhaps Nick Silver wouldn’t reappear, and Robert might be the only person with the knowledge of what was in that cold storage unit? Perhaps the whole lot might be his if the cards fell in the right way, which they had done so often for Robert before. What would the family portraits say about that? Robert sauntering around with almost a cool half a billion?
But Nick Silver never reappeared.
Even now, bobbing alone, far out to sea, Robert looks around to see if salvation might be at hand. A stately white galleon welcoming him aboard with fine news from home. There was a galleon in Robert’s favourite book as a child. His mother read it to him before he had to leave. It was laden with treasure from the East Indies, and Robert would dream about it at night. You can’t help the habit of a lifetime, can you? Was that the last time he was happy? No, that’s not right, there had been plenty of happiness over the years, trips and friends and golf, but perhaps sitting on his mother’s knee at the age of seven was the last time he was truly himself.
He has led a charmed life, but he can’t say that he has enjoyed it. Who loved him? Robert can’t think of a soul. His mother perhaps, but wasn’t that a very long time ago? Life for Robert was just an endless succession of seeing what might happen next. He was incapable of making anything actually happen. You have to be real to make things happen, and Robert has known for a very long time that he is not real.
He never made anything but money. And then he lost that too.
He thinks again what life might have been like in an ordinary house in an ordinary town with ordinary parents. He will never know, but he wishes he could have found out.
Aut neca aut necare. Kill or be killed. Take a bit of initiative was probably the basic point, wasn’t it? Don’t always let life happen to you.
Robert opens the box and takes out the gun. It was his father’s; Robert had never been allowed to touch it. ‘I wouldn’t trust you with a gun,’ his father had said. ‘You’d probably blow your own head off.’
His father, who had bent the world to his will his whole life, had died of a heart attack in a sauna in Marrakesh. They had found him fat and naked, and it had taken four paramedics to move him. The sauna closed a few weeks later. Even in death he demanded attention.
Robert pushes himself to his feet and perches on the top railing of the deck. If he shoots himself from this angle, his body will topple backwards into the sea. No one will have to clear anything up and he won’t be any trouble.
He can just float away, and it will be like he was never here at all.
Or he could just ride the waves to France? Start a new life. Leave the house and the debts behind and trust in his luck? Luck? He’s probably had quite enough of that for one lifetime.
Robert raises the gun. His tongue finds a little crack in one of his upper teeth. It’s been there a while and he really should have gone to the dentist. He won’t need to now. No more cracks in his teeth, no more holes in the roof, no more bills on the mat.
He angles the gun towards his head and looks down the barrel. He smiles – his father would be furious.
As his finger puts pressure on the trigger, Robert’s eye catches something in the distance. He has to check again to make sure, but he sees it.
And what he sees are the broad white sails of a galleon. It is returning from the East Indies, laden with treasure.
