Ron and Lizzie both shook their head.
‘Why would you use outdated notes?’ Lizzie finally asked.
‘Maybe the tube was planned some years ago when the banknotes were current,’ speculated Ron.
‘I think that is the likely explanation,’ said Arthur, ‘so that means it was put together before May 2000 when the latest issue came into use.’
‘That’s three things Swiss,’ stated Lizzie. ‘Rolf works in Switzerland from time to time, the banknotes are Swiss and the handkerchief may be of continental origin.’
Arthur nodded his agreement.
‘Yes, I think we had better concentrate on the Swiss link,’ he said. ‘Go to Switzerland as a couple and ferret about at the factory there and see what you can come up with. Do they or did they make handkerchiefs? Do the rectangles fit in with anything there? Is 1976 a date or number that is associated with anything or anyone there? Do they have a company slogan that could be the watchword? Meanwhile I’ll put out feelers about the Croesus treasures amongst those who might know about possible thefts before 2000.’
***
Since taking up cycling again, Doug had adopted the practice of cycling from Fenchurch Street station to his city office, but only when the weather was dry. He didn’t want to cart a foldable bike on the train as some commuters did, instead he used a Boris bike from one of the cycle parks just by Fenchurch Street and would leave it in another near his office. He left home each morning with his helmet strapped to his trendy satchel, donned his helmet when he hired his bike and took the bungee strap out of his satchel to secure it to the rear wheel rack. He had to look smart at work and didn’t wish to arrive looking dishevelled.
Bong, bong… bong.
“Good evening, here is the London news,” announced the TV newsreader.
The weather in the capital has been the warmest ever recorded for an afternoon in late September at thirty-one degrees Celsius. Office workers have flocked in great numbers to the parks during their lunch breaks and there were long queues at ice-cream vans throughout the area. The latest unemployment figures released today showed a fall in the south-east of almost two percentage points. Retailers in Oxford Street are gearing up for what they believe will be a bumper Christmas shopping spree.Accident figures for cyclists in the capital are at an all-time high.
A serious accident occurred today near the junction of Gresham Street and Ironmonger Lane in the City when a cyclist was knocked off his Boris bike by the driver of a stationary vehicle, parked illegally in the wrong direction, opening the passenger door. The cyclist, male, was wearing a helmet and the hospital spokesperson said but for that a far more serious head injury might have resulted. The doctor treating the cyclist, later named as Douglas Watson, said his patient would remain in hospital for at least forty-eight hours while his concussion was being assessed.
And now tomorrow’s weather forecast.
Bong, bong… bong.
Listening to the TV news in her home office rather than watching it whilst she was tidying up some paperwork she had prepared for a client meeting scheduled for the following morning, Ruth did not register the name of the cyclist involved. It was only later when she sat down in her lounge with her Italian ready-made meal supper on her lap and a glass of Asti in her hand and her mind fully focused on the TV screen that the situation about Doug’s accident became apparent to her. She listened in shock for the remainder of the broadcast, unable to fully take in the news. Some minutes later she realised that the hospital name had not been given nor any emergency number to call for friends and family. She rang the television company and was eventually put through to the duty officer responsible for the news broadcast. He was unable to divulge the name of the hospital due to data protection regulations but he hinted that if she consulted a street map then the hospital involved could be the one nearest to the junction of the two streets named. She dithered about whether or not to ring Doug’s mobile number but in the end decided that she would go to the hospital the following day after her client had left. On arrival the next day she found Doug sitting up and speaking, earnestly it appeared, with a tall, thin man holding his head at a slight tilt.
Paul Rocheford had been stationed, as usual, opposite his target’s place of work. He had seen Doug approach his office block on the Boris bike. Short of the building by some thirty or so metres he had rounded a parked car that was facing him. At the moment he drew level with the front bumper the driver flung open the passenger door and Doug was unable to stop quickly enough to avoid the crash. The driver drove off smartly in the opposite direction and was soon lost in the traffic leaving Doug sprawled in the middle of the road. The attention of pedestrians and other road users was centred entirely on the figure lying still on the smooth tarmac and nobody, save Paul, was any the wiser as to how the incident had occurred or who the culprit was. Paul had seen the door forced open forcibly, Doug knocked off, the car move away smartly and intermingle with the traffic stream. He had just caught the first four characters of the number plate LN07, a car registered in the DV licensing district of London Stanmore in the first half of 2007. On hearing the pandemonium in the street below one of the cyclist’s colleagues must have looked out of the widow, recognised Doug and telephoned for an ambulance. Paul saw someone come out from the building, pick up the satchel and speak to one of the paramedics. Guessing the hospital to where the patient would be transported, Paul was able to confirm this with a quick word with the ambulance driver and was away from the scene before the police could ask for witnesses. He presented himself later in the day at the hospital, enquiring after Doug Watson who had been brought into A & E that morning and was surprised to be allowed onto the monitoring ward where he found Doug sitting up looking none the worse for his accident.
There was a judgement here for Paul to make between maintaining professional integrity and being fair to an innocent victim. In his approach to his target’s bedside Paul had chosen the latter. If he hadn’t been still partially comatosed and shocked at the morning’s events Doug would have greeted Paul with a testy remark. As it was he just said pull up a chair. Paul had a lot to say that Doug desperately wanted to understand but wasn’t able to digest. When Ruth arrived anxiety was written all over her face. His attempt at an explication of events was so fragmented that she soon realised he needed peace and quiet to recover and they left on the promise that Doug would ring as soon as he felt with it. Soon after their departure, two of his daughters visited him and, as far as Doug was concerned, mercifully stayed for no more than ten minutes before claiming other things they simply had to do. He was relieved when they left and wondered how on earth he could have sired such shallow creatures. They didn’t love him and, sadly, he now had to acknowledge that it was mutual. Care for them still, yes, but love, no more.
It was some time after he was discharged before Doug began to feel his old self. On his third day at home he rang the mobile number Paul had written on the back of his employer’s business card snappily named “Street Cred Investigators”, senior partner Colin Wakers.
‘Hallo Paul, this is Doug Watson ringing.’
‘Hallo Doug,’ Paul replied. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Very much better thank you. I’m on sick leave again tomorrow but could manage a pint if you are free at midday.’
‘Fine,’ replied Paul. ‘Is Canary Wharf OK for you?’
‘Yes, there’s a pub near the tube station, turn left as you leave the main exit.’
‘It was a planned act, Doug,’ said Paul, taking a gulp of his dark brown stout. ‘Just consider the facts. One, the driver was stationary along a kerbside with a double yellow line, probably had the engine running too. Two, he was parked in the wrong direction, obvious why, so that he could make a fast getaway in the opposite direction. Three, he was waiting for someone in particular and that someone was you. And fourthly, and the real clincher, it was the passenger
door that was opened to knock you down. Just think about it. Alone in the car how can the driver quickly and forcibly open and close the passenger door?’
‘Tell me!’
‘He must have had some sort of rod or pole attached to the passenger door handle. He would have opened the door a fraction while he was waiting for you. He saw you coming and at the moment he judged right he pushed hard on the rod and the door opened with force. You get taken out. He pulls on the rod, closes the door and speeds off!’
‘Did you get a look at the driver?’
‘No, only a glimpse. Male, possibly thickset, burly. He’d be just a hired hand so to speak. But of who’s behind the hit I’ve no idea.’
‘Paul,’ said Doug, followed by a long hesitation, ‘why are you telling me this? We both know you have been following me.’
‘I’ve already asked myself that,’ he replied somewhat abruptly. ‘Soul searched a bit, know what I mean.’
They both took a swig of their beers whilst Paul wrestled with how much to tell Doug.
‘My firm had a brief to follow a particular person, not you. In the course of our investigation tailing this certain person, a colleague and I believe that something came into your possession that belonged to, or was being couriered by, the man we were hired to tail. We took the view that whatever it was that was given, or dumped, on you was more important than the person. When we reported back to the client we were told to maintain surveillance on you.’
‘So you know my name, where I work, where I live and probably a lot more besides.’
‘Oh! Yes. I’ve been aware of you one way or another since Liechtenstein.’
‘Liechtenstein!’ exclaimed Doug a little too loudly. ‘You were there?’ he asked incredulously.
‘My colleague Susan saw you in Paris, then at St. Pancras and when you got off the train at your home station. You’ve been shining brightly on our radar ever since.’
‘This doesn’t explain my original question of why you are telling me this and presumably breaking client confidentiality,’ said Doug.
A faint smile of reflection appeared on Paul’s face.
‘I’ve been a copper on the beat and station sergeant for decades and in that time I’ve seen more innocent people being bashed by the law than I’ve seen criminals being prosecuted let alone found guilty. And I grew sick of seeing so many get away scot-free when I knew they were as guilty as hell. Know all the tricks of the judicial system they do, some of them know more points of law than presiding judges!’
A few moments of contemplative silence followed before Paul continued.
‘So when I saw a perfectly innocent guy like yourself come along I said to myself I’m damned if I am going to stand by and do nothing. I’m no longer in the force and I’m going to take positive action. So here I am talking to you.’
A long breather then ensued.
‘Thanks,’ said Doug, ‘thanks for believing me innocent and thanks for putting me in the picture about what you are doing. By the way, was it the youngish bloke with the red baseball cap who you were following?’
‘No it wasn’t him, not originally anyhow. It was at the Cafe Rosah in the main square in Vaduz. My target was sitting there waiting for somebody and that somebody turned out to be the man in the red baseball cap. I saw the target slip a parcel to Kevin Yorke, that’s his name, and from then on I followed Kevin.’
‘And Kevin was the person I saw on the train, at St. Pancras and again on the platform when I arrived home. It was the red baseball cap that stood out. What a numbskull!’
‘More precisely: a criminal numbskull. And now whatever is going on is taking a more sinister turn. You’ve got something that somebody else wants badly enough to give you a very clear warning. That was what your accident was, a warning. It wasn’t designed to kill, just to let you know that you’d better give back what isn’t yours, or else. Cooperate and you’ll be fine, don’t cooperate and you’ll be in big trouble.’
‘Food for thought,’ said Doug pensively.
‘Yes indeed,’ agreed Paul. ‘Another?’ he asked, raising his empty pint glass.
The pub had become crowded whilst they were engrossed in conversation. They walked out onto a small terraced area overlooking the river when Paul came back with their refills. Leaning on the railings, Paul took up the conversation again.
‘So what’s your story?’
‘You’ve got most of it already,’ said Doug. ‘I was at the Café Rosah in Vaduz with a cycling group. I was aware of Kevin in his baseball cap at several points on the passage home but thought nothing of it. It was only on the local train home when I felt for my house keys which were taped to the bottom of a pannier that I found two objects. One was a pouch, the other a short tube. I opened the pouch and found some marbles. I inadvertently dropped one and whilst looking on the floor for it, trod on it. It shattered and when I picked up the pieces I found an inner piece that wasn’t glass, it was diamond.’
Paul said nothing but continued to listen attentively.
‘To cut a long story short I stuffed them in a compost bin as I passed the council allotments. I went back the following morning and the allotment holder, Ruth, the lady who came to the hospital when you were there, basically asked me if I had buried some things in her compost bin the previous evening. She had the two items and we went back to her house to examine them.’
‘And what did you find?’
‘In the pouch: twenty-nine marbles, each with a letter on it. In the white tube: a handkerchief and two Swiss banknotes.’
‘Some haul,’ said Paul with irony.
‘The handkerchief had things written on it. Some sort of puzzle to solve, we think. The letters on the marbles spell out “The quality of mercy is not strained”. The meaning of that we don’t know, could be a form of warning.’
‘Warning,’ queried Paul.
‘Yes, pound of flesh and all that stuff.’
‘May I enquire why you haven’t gone to the police already,’ asked Paul.
‘Well first of all I was the only one who knew about the diamond in the broken marble and it wasn’t until I told Ruth about it four or five days later that she became complicit to that fact. Also, it’s only one marble that we know for sure contains a gemstone. It’s just speculation that the others contain gems too but because of their different sizes Ruth thinks they do as the likelihood of thirty stones being all the same size is not high.’
Doug continued. ‘We did discuss going to the police but we had no way of knowing whether or not they were stolen property and if we had handed them in as lost property the police would have thought we were crazy bothering about reporting a pouch of grey marbles. So we did nothing. It seemed the best option at the time.’
‘You might need to reassess that decision,’ said Paul, looking at his watch. ‘I must go. I’ll let you know if I come up with any information about the owner of the vehicle. I’ll also contact my client for further instructions. Nice meeting you Doug, even in these unusual circumstances.’
They shook hands and Paul wandered out, leaving Doug to watch a laden barge start its lazy passage around the Isle of Dogs.
After leaving the pub in Canary Wharf Paul took the underground two stops on the Jubilee line to the small office of Street Cred Investigators in the vastly less salubrious district of Bermondsey. Paul knew Colin, the senior partner, would be in that afternoon and he felt the need to talk over his unethical behaviour with him or, at least, have the courtesy of putting him in the picture. Having been in the force himself, dealing mostly with organised crime, Colin was sympathetic to Paul’s point of view but reminded him that his client’s wishes were paramount and it was his client who was paying the bills. After due consideration Paul emailed Alan Gadd.
From: [email protected]
To:[email protected]<
br />
Dear Alan,
As per your instructions, I have continued surveillance of Mr Douglas Watson.
During the period since my last report he has met Miss Ruth Raven, a potential source of information/associate on two occasions.
Mr Watson was involved in a street accident six days ago and spent 48 hours in hospital before returning home for recuperation. I was a witness to the accident and as a result came into contact with Mr Watson who furnished me with some very interesting information.
May I please ask you to telephone me at your earliest convenience.
Yours sincerely, Paul Rocheford.
Alan was hoping that he could finally get his hands on some concrete evidence showing Rolf acting fraudulently but he was not expecting what Paul told him. A single diamond and some glass marbles plus a handkerchief and two Swiss banknotes were the contents of what had been ferried unwittingly to London in a cycle pannier belonging to Doug. According to Mr Watson the diamond was fairly large and he believed it to be of extremely good quality as he had seen diamonds of a similar size set in rings displayed in top-end jewellers’ shops with price tags of more than twenty-five thousand pounds. Paul had deliberately not mentioned the possibility of a further haul of gems in the other twenty-nine marbles but he had come clean about the tube contents and the accident which he suggested was arranged by a player or players unknown to warn Mr Watson to return what they considered to be their property. Mr Watson has agreed to keep me posted if anything further arises in this regard. Alan therefore concurred that further surveillance was pointless. He asked Paul to similarly keep him posted, thanked him and arranged for the bill to be sent.
***
Andreé’s reaction to Alan G’s exit was one of surprising calm. She had always liked Alan and his family and in the many years she had known them and later worked with Alan in WareWork they had got on well. He had been hardworking and competent and her father had held him in very high regard. But he was not her family. In addition he knew about Rolf’s baggage and therefore he was potentially dangerous. She was glad he was gone! Suddenly, family was of paramount importance. WareWork would rise from its current lowly position and she, Andreé, together with Daniel and Rolf, would drive the business back to its former and rightful place. Since their spilling of home truths it was funny, Andreé mused, how important family matters had become. It was part of the reason, she believed, why she had taken her eye off the business ball. Rolf had changed too. He was less sure of himself. He listened more closely to her views now. He didn’t brush her aside in the way that he used to.
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