Judas Horse

by Lynda La Plante

  Lee nodded curtly and stood up.

  Once he’d left the office, Hearst picked up her phone.

  *

  Jack, now wearing his posh new clothes, asked the Uber to drop him at the end of the street, just along from the emporium. He didn’t want the security guards to see that he didn’t have transport – and his own car, which was a perfectly respectable Skoda Octavia, would have immediately told them that Jack’s new wardrobe was all for show, while Jack’s regular clothes were now squashed into the Hackett’s bag he’d been given when he bought his shoes.

  Jack headed straight for the security guard on the emporium’s main door with a natural swagger and nodded a ‘good morning’. The security guard nodded back, said, ‘Welcome, sir,’ and opened the door for him. It was a small and petty revenge, but it was still sweet.

  Inside, the emporium was a dazzling place. Every window was brimming with items that twinkled under carefully placed spotlights.

  After his first lap of the lower floor, Jack headed up the central ornate metal staircase. At the top, the shop right in front of him was numbered fourteen; to its left, was number thirteen and to its right was number fifteen. Jack turned right. He took his time, making sure that he paused to look in every window and even go into some of the shops for a quick browse.

  Shop number twenty-one had a relatively low-key window display, with far less in it than most of the others. It whispered ‘quality, not quantity’. A small brass bell above the door jingled as Jack entered and it brought a young woman out from behind a door in the back. Inside, the shop was again economical in terms of its contents, allowing every item to be prominently displayed in a space of its own.

  The young woman went and sat behind the counter and smiled sweetly to let Jack know that she was here if he needed her, then she picked up a book and started to read, allowing Jack to browse uninterrupted.

  Some of the locked display cabinets housing the more expensive items of jewellery had mirrored panels to allow shoppers to view them from all sides. In these mirrors, Jack counted seven unobtrusive CCTV cameras mounted in the corners of the shop and down the centre aisle. It was an impressive set-up. As Jack passed the young woman reading, he glanced up in an attempt to see what was beyond the door behind her, where – thanks to the plan of the interior given to him by Ridley – Jack knew was an on-site office and storage area that was about half the size of the shop itself.

  The second-hand section of the shop boasted a few Cartier or Tiffany items, and hand-written notes invited visitors to ask if they were looking for anything in particular, as there was also a select number of Chopard, Vogue and Bulgari items in the back. Jack assumed they were family heirlooms that had been exchanged for more practical cash. As Jack moved around the shop, he could feel the thick maroon carpet sliding beneath the shiny soles of his new shoes.

  ‘Let me know if you have any questions.’ Jack looked towards the female voice, expecting to see the young woman peering over the top of her book; instead, he found himself looking at Betina Barro.

  She was of medium height and slender in a skin-tight, off-the-shoulder dress with three-quarter sleeves. Her coily black hair sat neatly on her bare shoulders. The only jewellery she wore was a pair of large diamond stud earrings. Up close, Jack thought she was less sexy than in the airbrushed images he’d seen on social media. She wasn’t unattractive by any means; she simply wasn’t a goddess, with a slightly longer face and more prominent nose than the glossy images suggested. Jack thought that trying to be someone you’re not was a shame, until he reflected that he was doing exactly the same thing. But he wasn’t doing it out of vanity; it was just part of the job.

  The feature that Betina had no need to alter, however, was her eyes – they were astonishingly wide and dark, with large irises. Betina raised her eyebrows and tipped her head to the side in a silent repeat of her question, as Jack looked at her.

  ‘Just looking,’ he said, and she smiled, clearly assuming he was referring to her as much as the jewellery in the display cases, and went back to working on her laptop, which sat on the black velvet and red leather jewellery examination block. Her long, slender fingers barely seemed to move as she typed for a few moments.

  ‘Actually . . .’ Jack began. Betina closed the lid of her laptop and gave him her full attention. ‘I’m looking for something for my girlfriend.’

  Jack assumed Betina would instantly show him the most expensive item in the shop, but instead she asked him to tell her about his girlfriend.

  ‘She’s . . .’ Jack tried to think of a fictional girlfriend, but couldn’t. He could only think of Maggie. ‘She’s perfect really. Beautiful in an understated way. She doesn’t wear a lot of jewellery normally, only items that mean something to her. She subtly showed me this photo the other day. The gift is for a very special occasion, so money is no object.’

  Jack reached into his pocket, ‘accidently’ taking out the fake Bentley key ring. Once he was certain that Betina had seen both the keyring and the fake Rolex, he replaced the keys and dipped into his right-hand pocket. From here, he removed a folded page from Vogue magazine showing a ring – a large square-cut emerald, surrounded by diamonds, on a platinum band.

  Betina looked at it appreciatively. ‘Your girlfriend clearly has wonderful taste. Are you specifically looking for an emerald? We have a lovely range of rose diamonds in at the moment. And is her heart set on the square-cut, do you know? It’s the most common, of course, but . . . if she’s as special as you suggest, perhaps “common” isn’t the way to go.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Emerald is her birth stone, so nothing else will do. The square-cut isn’t important as long as it’s around three carats.’ Jack continued to talk breezily about jewellery that cost about a third of his annual police salary and began to enjoy the feeling of power it gave him, knowing that Betina totally believed in the fake persona he’d created. When another customer entered the shop, Betina called the young woman from behind the counter to deal with him so she could focus on Jack.

  Now that Betina had an idea of Jack’s girlfriend’s taste, she asked about the special occasion he’d mentioned. This was the question Jack had been waiting for. ‘It’s to celebrate one of her Arabians winning a European title.’

  There was a brief glint of interest in Betina’s eyes, but she clearly didn’t want to be diverted from a potentially big sale onto the subject of horses. ‘I’d estimate the ring in Vogue to be priced at around fifteen to twenty thousand pounds. Is that roughly what you expected?’

  Jack laughed softly. ‘That’s a little less than I thought you’d say, actually.’

  Betina smiled, as if money was of no importance to either of them. ‘We have several rings I think you might want to look at. They won’t be identical, of course. We have a couple of the rarer, round emeralds, and we have two five-carat examples that I can show you. We also have some vintage styles. Would you like to see those as well?’

  ‘I’m happy to put myself in your very capable hands,’ Jack smiled back. As Betina turned to open the office door, the bell above the door rang and the other customer left, letting someone else in at the same time. A deep, velvety voice quickly echoed around the small shop.

  ‘Your fucking brother has been caught bullshitting his way onto a polo team in the Hamptons with a rather creative CV. Again! And then he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, so was thrown out.’ As the owner of the voice moved round the central jewellery cabinet, Jack came into view from behind a tall display stand. Betina threw an embarrassed and apologetic glance at Jack. ‘Oh, my apologies!’ the owner of the deep voice laughed. ‘I thought the gentleman who just went out was the only . . . I hope you’ll forgive my outburst.’

  Jack smiled, showing he wasn’t offended, and offered his hand. ‘Richard Delaware.’ Jack had chosen the name of his best friend from school. Richard Delaware had died of cancer at the age of nine. It was a name Jack would always associate with strength and bravery: both qualitie
s he needed for this undercover operation if it was going to succeed.

  ‘Michael De Voe,’ the man replied. Game on, Jack thought, a flash of adrenaline coursing through his body.

  Michael De Voe was an impressive-looking man. He was over six feet, with thick, wavy blond hair and deep blue eyes. At first sight boyish, as he got closer it became clear that he was in his mid to late 40s. His tanned skin was deeply lined, the result, Jack presumed, of years of travelling the world and enjoying outdoor pursuits. De Voe wore a navy blue silk draped shirt and similar corduroy trousers to those Jack was wearing. On his left pinkie finger, he wore a heavy gold carnelian ring. De Voe gripped Jack’s hand tight and showed a row of gleaming, perfectly capped teeth in a broad smile. ‘Apologies again, Richard. My dear assistant’s brother is a constant pain in my derriere. But you don’t want to hear about my problems. Come and have a seat, whilst Betina sees to your needs. I don’t like my customers to wait standing up . . . or without a drink in their hand.’

  *

  As Jack followed De Voe through the office door and into the private space beyond, he knew there was no turning back; now he was in the dragon’s lair. Maggie’s words echoed in his mind, clear and sharp: You can’t ignore who you are. Think like Harry. Act like Charlie.

  The small office contained a half-sized desk, a desktop computer, a landline and various chargers for devices that were not on display.

  An impressive-looking safe was bricked into the wall behind the desk with no attempt at disguise, suggesting that no one came back here without an express invitation, or that the safe was possibly a decoy. De Voe put two single malt whiskys on the desk and sat down in a wide black leather office chair, gesturing to Jack to seat himself on the velvet-cushioned chair on the other side of the desk. ‘How did you find us?’ De Voe’s casual tone couldn’t disguise his curiosity about ‘Richard Delaware’.

  ‘To be honest,’ Jack replied, ‘I didn’t know you were here. I was just wandering when your displays caught my eye. Some of the other shops seem very cluttered, as though they’re trying to make me buy as much as possible. I prefer quality over quantity.’

  Jack wasn’t really putting on a particular accent for De Voe’s benefit, but Penny would probably have called it a ‘telephone voice’, posh enough to vaguely suggest he was from London and rich.

  The conversation drifted from twenty-grand emerald-and-diamond rings, to Jack’s girlfriend’s wealthy family and stud farm. Jack wanted De Voe to think that Richard Delaware’s wealth was not his own, suspecting that De Voe would be drawn more to a cunning charmer who lived off someone else’s money.

  Jack chose this moment to bring the diamond bracelet from his pocket and ask De Voe if he’d consider it in part-exchange. De Voe took the bracelet and examined it through a small teardrop-shaped magnifying glass. Jack knew from the stolen items log that it was a high quality, beautifully crafted piece of jewellery and when De Voe asked him who the bracelet had belonged to and why he was selling it, Jack said it was an heirloom handed down from his grandmother, and that his girlfriend didn’t like – being diamonds rather than her favourite emeralds. De Voe’s eyes flicked to Jack and then back to the magnifying glass, and Jack immediately knew that De Voe thought he was lying. De Voe didn’t flinch again. He didn’t check any police list or ask any more questions: Jack’s demeanour was telling him everything he needed to know. He was playing the ‘chancer’ perfectly and De Voe was falling for it. But De Voe wasn’t going to let his guard slip just yet; that would take longer than a short conversation over a single malt.

  It took Betina another ten minutes to gather all of the rings she thought Jack might be interested in and, during that time, De Voe took his opportunity to delve deeper into the background of his new acquaintance.

  Jack had to have his wits about him. He had no experience as an undercover officer and was simply drawing on his natural instincts to be able to read De Voe’s questions and supply appropriate answers. ‘Although my girlfriend pointed out the emerald-and-diamond ring, I’m thinking I might also be in the market for a matching necklace.’ Jack raised his devilish black eyebrows and grinned his best super-smooth grin. ‘She won’t be expecting that.’

  De Voe did not flinch at the mention of an emerald necklace. And Jack chose not to pursue it further for now, not wanting to be too obvious. He’d planted the seed, and he wasn’t expecting De Voe to instantly mention that he had recently acquired a one-off emerald necklace that had been owned by the infamous Barbara Hutton.

  But De Voe did do something that, as far as Jack was concerned, indicated his guilt just as strongly: he instantly changed the subject completely and asked what line of work Richard was in.

  ‘Shipping. Import, export. It’s a family business that keeps the wolf from the door, but I have no real interest in it,’ Jack replied airily. ‘The only sea-going vessel that interests me is my father’s yacht.’ At that moment Betina entered the office carrying a small red leather briefcase, reminiscent of the Chancellor’s red box. She placed it on the desk in front of Jack and then left. De Voe invited Jack to open it.

  The clasps were stiff and when they sprang free, they did it with such force that the briefcase jumped slightly on the table. Jack lifted the velvet-lined lid, which had 180-degree hinges, so it could then be used as a display tray.

  Four emerald rings, each sitting inside its own black velvet bed, glistened at Jack. They were stunning and he knew from his research that he was looking at around £170,000 of jewellery. He quickly dismissed the ring on the lower right-hand side of the briefcase as being too small, then lifted out the other three rings, one by one, and examined them against the light. He gave the impression of being uncertain that any of them were quite what he was looking for. ‘You know, the more I look at these, the more I’m thinking that a matching necklace would be the way to really impress her. You know what it’s like, Mr De Voe – she’s a woman who’s used to getting what she asks for, so the trick is to also give her what she’s not asked for.’ Jack returned the rings to the briefcase and flipped the lid closed, hoping the threat of leaving the shop empty-handed would prompt De Voe into action.

  De Voe refilled Jack’s crystal tumbler with single malt from the matching decanter and looked thoughtful. Jack made himself wait patiently. He’d set the hook; now he just had to sit back and see if De Voe would take the bait.

  After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, De Voe finally volunteered the information Jack had been waiting to hear. ‘I may be able to help you with an emerald necklace, actually. I have some exceptional stones, although the necklace itself would have to be custom made. But that means it can exactly match the ring you choose. Are you working to a timeframe?’

  Jack confirmed that there was no rush and that he was perfectly prepared to wait for any custom design to be made as he didn’t need the jewellery for another month, intending to give it to his girlfriend on her birthday. Jack then flipped the small red briefcase open again and pointed at the most expensive-looking ring. ‘That one’ll do,’ he said casually, downing the last of his whisky.

  De Voe then explained that an emerald necklace had recently come into his possession, but the stones’ settings were damaged and the clasp needed replacing, so he had decided to dismantle the piece and either sell the stones individually or make a new design.

  Jack smiled to himself. Of course it would be impossible for De Voe to sell Sally Barrowman’s Barbara Hutton necklace in one piece, as it would be instantly recognisable, so breaking it up was his only option.

  De Voe was clearly delighted to be shaking hands on such a huge deal, especially since Richard Delaware had not even asked the combined price of the necklace and ring. De Voe asked him for his mobile phone number, and Jack recited the one belonging to the burner phone in his pocket. He also gave his address as a huge property in the Cotswolds. De Voe smiled: ‘Lovely part of the world.’

  Jack stood to leave, he mentally patted himself on the back for his
performance, but then De Voe threw an almighty spanner in the works by grabbing the diamond bracelet from the desk before Jack could take it back. ‘If you leave this with me, I’ll get it valued and then be able to tell you how much I can part-ex it for.’ Jack froze for a second. How could he leave police evidence with De Voe? ‘Don’t worry, Richard; I’ll give you a receipt. Trust me.’

  Jack stiffened as he realised that De Voe was testing him. It was Jack’s move and there was only one thing he could do. He forced himself to relax and gave De Voe a casual smile, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m not a man to trust easily, Mr De Voe. But I feel that you and I understand each other, so I’m happy to leave the bracelet with you. I don’t need a receipt . . . it’s not like I don’t know where to find you, is it?’ he said with a just a hint of menace. Jack left without another word.

  Outside the emporium, he made a quick phone call: ‘Are you free to meet?’

  *

  When Mason glanced up from his desk, more than an hour later and noticed that Lee was not back in the squad room, and wasn’t pacing the car park either, he started to wonder if DI Lee might have done something rash, and went to look for him. He found him in the canteen nursing a cappuccino and still reeling from his conversation with Hearst.

  ‘We should bring Charlotte Miles in,’ Lee said. Mason did not let his worry show. ‘I just called her and she’s ignoring me. She’s picked that annoying little habit up from Jack Warr. We need to bring her in, brief her and get her into protective custody, exactly as we should have done in the first place. Then we’re in control. And when De Voe calls, we can guide the conversation instead of leaving it in the hands of some bloody gardener.’

  Mason drew on their years of friendship to steer Lee back on track. ‘Eamonn, if De Voe suspects anything, we’ll lose them all. He won’t take any risks. And, this close to the equestrian event, he’ll have people here already. What if one of them has eyes on Charlotte? We could put her in danger.’