Finders Keepers

by Kris Lillyman

  However, Drescher looked puzzled as he shook Jake’s hand. “Mister Sloane? Forgive me, but you look so different from the last time we met.” It was Drescher’s business to remember faces and Jake’s had changed a great deal in last two years as had his physique.

  “Ah, yes,” Jake said. “A change of lifestyle, a healthier regime. Hopefully it’s paid off.”

  Drescher smiled, “It has indeed. But now I see it is you, your smile, your eyes - unmistakable. Good to see you so well and welcome, again, to our little bank.”

  ‘Little bank’ was probably the understatement of the century but Jake didn’t labour the point. “May I introduce my fiancé, Elizabeth Barnes.” It felt good saying it out loud and Lizzie, too, felt a little rush of delight.

  “Miss Barnes,” Drescher said, letting go of Jake’s hand and taking hold of Lizzie’s. He then snapped his heels together like a soldier and bent to kiss it. “My pleasure and congratulations to you both. You make a wonderful couple.”

  “Thank you,” Lizzie said, a little flustered, “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Now, to business,” Drescher continued. “You wish to visit the vault I understand?”

  “That’s correct,” Jake said.

  “In that case, would you be so kind as to follow me,” Drescher said, already beginning to stride across the wide, oak panelled foyer.

  * * *

  Three floors below ground, in the bright, clinically modern vault with all its hi-tec security, Drescher nodded curtly and left Jake and Lizzie alone beside box number 1301. Drescher, himself, would wait in an anti-room until they were ready to leave.

  Jake punched his personal code into the keypad then hit enter and the deposit box door clicked open. From inside that, Jake withdrew the large plastic bin and took out the leather bound briefcase. He looked at Lizzie and smiled, “Wanna see?” he asked.

  “You betcha,” she said.

  Jake took the case and led Lizzie to one of the curtained booths at the far end of the room, swishing the curtain closed behind them and placing the case flat on the small desk in front of him.

  “Ready?” He said.

  “Mmm hmm,” she replied, peering eagerly over his shoulder as he snapped open the catches and opened the lid.

  Lizzie saw immediately that the case had many compartments. “Pick one,” Jake said. “Any one, it doesn’t matter.” She pointed randomly at a compartment that looked identical to all the rest. “Open it,” Jake encouraged, “Take out what’s inside.” Lizzie already knew what was there but the anticipation was still intense after all she had been through to get to this point. Almost nervously, she clicked open the compartment and took out a little velvet bag. “Go on,” Jake said, “Have a look.”

  Lizzie slid the drawstring fastening open and poured the contents of the bag into her upturned hand. The small pile of large, beautifully cut stones sparkled prettily at her under the bright, halogen lighting of the vault. Diamonds bigger than Lizzie had ever seen - even coming from an extremely wealthy family where seeing diamonds, whilst not commonplace, did occur reasonably regularly. Lizzie still bore the scar on her left temple from one such stone - from her wedding ring - but that was nothing as sizeable or as exquisite as these. “Wow!” she gasped.

  “Wow, indeed,” said Jake. “Every compartment, every bag, exactly the same thing, give or take. This case is worth millions - more than enough to kill for.”

  “Those sons of bitches,” Lizzie snarled.

  “Yep.” Said Jake. “Wanna see some more?”

  “No,” she said adamantly. “I’m done with these goddamn diamonds.”

  “Me too,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  * * *

  A short time later, they said goodbye to Drescher and left the Zeiss Schiller bank with the briefcase. Its contents being the cause of more death and anguish than Jake could ever have imagined in his worst nightmares.

  He had sold fourteen of the diamonds and after expenses; passports, air fares, hotels, eye surgery, payment of debts and just day to day living, he had a little over one hundred thousand euros left. But he did not want it. Not anymore. It was dirty money. Blood money. And he wanted no part of it or the diamonds either.

  To rid himself of some of the cash, he took Lizzie to a high-end dealership that specialised in luxury cars for the wealthy and using a large chunk of what he now knew to be Peter Bearing’s and Arthur Khan’s money, extravagantly splashed out on a brand new Maserati Gran Turismo, which he drove straight out of the showroom.

  The remainder of the cash would be enough to get him and Lizzie back to England in style and see them through the next few weeks. But aside from that, Jake would be returning to England much as he had left it - or at least before he found the diamonds. Which he considered to be only right and proper.

  They drove back to the hotel and packed their bags. Then, with the case full of diamonds stashed safely in the boot of the brand new car, Jake and Lizzie readied themselves for the long trip home.

  Lizzie made herself comfortable in the plush leather passenger seat of the gleaming white Maserati and smiled at Jake. “It feels right, doesn’t it, you and me?” She said.

  “Yes, Lizzie.” He replied, returning her smile and placing his hand on her knee. “It feels exactly right.” Then he pushed the gear stick into

  “Drive” and sped out of the underground car park, the throaty roar of the Gran Turismo bouncing off the concrete walls.

  * * *

  Heading for Paris, but taking it easy, they decided to stop off in the city of Troyes overnight where they strolled hand in hand around the half-wooden houses of the historical old town before dining like kings in a fabulous restaurant on the banks of the Seine. Later, they went back to the hotel and made love long into the night.

  Next morning, after breakfast, they took to the road again and arrived in Paris shortly before lunch, taking a suite at the Regina hotel, which Jake booked for five days under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Sloane.

  They were not yet married but this trip, they decided, was going to be their honeymoon as neither knew what lay in wait for them in England - maybe even the possibility of prison for Jake - so they were determined to make the most of the time they had left together.

  Indeed, once they had checked in and Jake had tipped the bellhop, they did not leave the room again for two whole days, preferring instead to order room service and stay in bed.

  On the third day, which began with a glorious Parisian sunrise, Jake and Lizzie at last ventured out. Jake was particularly keen to visit Montmartre and the Sacré Coeur, but especially to see the artist’s quarter, to watch the painters at work, huddled under their brightly coloured umbrellas, creating breathtaking works of art. Maybe in another life, Jake mused, that could have been him.

  Another dream of his was to visit the Louvre which Lizzie was equally enthusiastic about and they spent the rest of the day just meandering contentedly around the remarkable museum.

  The fourth and fifth days were filled with sight-seeing, fine dining and love-making. It was perfect. They had chosen the most romantic setting in the whole world to seal their ever deepening love for each other. But the holiday was drawing to a close and the harsh reality of what was yet to be done remained. They were deliriously happy yet both were certain that what they were about to do was, without question, the right thing, no matter the consequences to themselves personally. They had to bring down Bearing and Khan. Whatever the cost.

  So, on the final day in Paris, from a pay phone near the Place de Concorde, Jake dialled New Scotland Yard and asked to speak with Detective Chief Inspector Roper Coyle.

  Several minutes passed, then a weary voice on the other end of the line said, “Hello, this is Coyle, you wanted to speak to me?”

  “Hello, Mister Coyle,” Jake replied. “My name is Jake Sawyer and I have a proposition for you.” />
  Chapter 39

  Roper could not believe it. After over two years the case that had been filed away unsolved and all but pronounced dead in the absence of any leads or evidence, had suddenly sprung spectacularly to life.

  For some curious reason, gut instinct maybe, this case had always niggled away at him and all his original suspicions, all his natural intuition that he had found so hard to ignore back then had, as a result of one phone call, been utterly vindicated.

  Jake Sawyer was alive. Diamonds - a whole lot of diamonds - were the reason for his disappearance and Peter Bearing and Arthur Khan were complicit, both in the illegal importation of the diamonds and in the murders of the Sawyer family and Richard Maddox.

  All Coyle’s boxes were ticked, except the one marked ‘hard evidence’ and that, he had just been informed, was going to be supplied by Sawyer himself within the next few days. This, apparently included tape recordings of private conversations, facsimile’s of shipping records and a signed affidavit from a prostitute who had been paid by Bearing to implicate Jonathan Wallace in an alleged rape. All of this would be in Roper Coyle’s hands very shortly. Enough evidence to send Bearing and Khan down for a very long time. And if they could be arrested whilst taking delivery of the diamonds then that would be all to the good. The icing on the cake.

  When the elated Coyle told his sergeant the good news, Dave Eckhart was excited and congratulatory. But when Roper was through telling him and had gone for a celebratory smoke on the fire escape, the smile slipped from Eckhart’s face.

  No longer was Dave the exuberant young copper he used to be, always tired yet always eager, the epitome of a good policeman with the makings of an even better detective. He was now a father, a husband and a provider. However, his two year old daughter was keeping him up all night, the wife that he had married when they were both too young was no longer happy and Dave had a mountain of growing debt. This had been compounded by a losing streak in the casino that showed no sign of breaking and an over reliance on whisky to help ease the strain.

  In short, Dave Eckhart was desperate and in need of major financial help.

  Eight months ago, Dave had been approached in the toilets of the casino he frequented by a burly Polish guy. Dave had been drinking heavily, so what was said was somewhat fuzzy in his memory, but the gist of it was that someone very rich would be extremely grateful to know any information about the disappearance of Jake Sawyer. Dave pushed the man for more information about who this person was who was so curious about a case that had already been effectively closed but was simply told that he was a wealthy business man who had an avid interest in the case.

  “You wouldn’t be talking about Peter Bearing would you?” Eckhart had asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” The man replied. “But he would be very grateful for anything you could tell him. Very grateful, my friend, if you take my meaning.” He then reached out and tucked something into the top pocket of Dave’s jacket, which he took to be a contact number.

  That was pretty much the extent of the conversation as Dave then turned to use the urinal. However, when he was finished the big Polish guy was gone.

  The next morning, Dave could not be at all sure if he had imagined the whole thing, the events of the previous night somewhat hazy in his mind, but he was fairly certain that he had not. To be sure, Dave checked the top pocket of his jacket and did, indeed, find a contact number, as expected, written on a card with the name ‘Fabian Król’ scrawled next to it, but with it he also found ten neatly folded fifty pound notes.

  Suddenly the words ‘very grateful’ pinged into his brain and Dave now understood exactly what that meant.

  For some reason that Eckhart could not quite fathom, he had never told Coyle about this meeting or the gift of that five hundred pounds.

  Now, eight months on, the words ‘very grateful’ pinged into Dave’s brain again and suddenly he felt extremely ashamed for what he was thinking.

  He was at his wit’s end and needed money fast to pay his mounting debts and to prevent his pretty young wife from leaving him.

  As if in a trance, Dave pushed out his chair and rose to his feet, then walked out of the office and along the corridor. A moment later he was standing in the stationery cupboard, the door closed, with the card Król had given him in his hand, which had been tucked in his wallet, almost forgotten, for eight months. Quickly he punched the number into his phone and waited for it to ring, but immediately he heard a recorded message saying ‘The cell phone you are calling is switched off, please try again later.” Eckhart ended the call. “Damn”.

  Dave returned to the office and poured himself a coffee from the stale pot at the far end of the incident room. It was more for something to do than for the need of the caffeine and realised this the moment he stared down at the tarry black liquid. He felt sick. Sick that he had made the call, sick at his betrayal of everything he stood for and sick for the fact that no one answered when he was so desperate for money. His life was falling apart, creditors hassling him day and night, his mobile endlessly buzzing with new messages demanding payment for old debts. At the weekends he had taken to leaving the home phone on answering machine so that he didn’t have to pick up. Seven days a week the damn thing would do nothing but ring and it was driving Dave round the bend.

  On top of that, his daughter was teething and he and his wife were suffering from sleep deprivation. Dave worked long hours, early mornings and late nights, but when he eventually got home it was often just to row with his wife or comfort his screaming daughter. Sleep would often only come after a significant amount of whiskey which, along with his forty a day cigarette habit, was just another thing he couldn’t afford.

  The phone call, and Fabian Król’s words, played on Dave’s mind for the rest of that day and pretty much through the whole of the following night between fitful bouts of sleep. But by the next morning he had made a decision - either the worst or best one of his life.

  On the drive in to work, he pulled his battered old Fiesta over into a lay-by and picked up his phone. He had decided to play out a hunch, which he knew was an act of sheer recklessness born from total despair, but his options had become increasingly more limited.

  First, he called Directory Assistance, then, when they had given him the number he was after, he asked to be put through.

  Ten seconds later he was speaking to a receptionist and he heard himself saying. “Hello, this is Detective Sergeant Dave Eckhart, could I speak to Peter Bearing please.”

  Chapter 40

  Jake and Lizzie arrived back in England after their wonderfully romantic break in Paris. They caught the early morning ferry from Calais and experienced a brief moment of panic as they drove through Customs in Dover, fearing that if they were stopped and searched the diamonds would be discovered and their plans would be scuppered. But there was no need to worry as they were waved straight through.

  They drove into Central London by midday and had checked into The Dorchester just in time for lunch, which they attended only after storing the briefcase containing the diamonds in the hotel’s safe.

  After a shower and a change of clothes, Lizzie and Jake then drove the sixteen miles out to Hampstead, to Aaron Sumpter’s house, parking the white Maserati on the road outside.

  They walked up the short driveway to his front door and let themselves in, selecting the Yale, the most obvious front door key, from the bunch that Aaron had forced on Jake.

  The moment Lizzie stepped over the threshold, she knew something was seriously wrong as all the photograph’s that used to line Aaron’s hallway were gone. Photos that he cherished so dearly. She rushed into the living room and found it empty, completely void of furniture, ornaments, a television, everything. Not even a carpet. The kitchen was the same. No kettle, toaster or microwave. The security monitor that was previously attached to the wall had been ripped out and all that remained was a severed wire that f
ed into the wall.

  Panicking now, she ran upstairs, Jake following several steps behind. By the time he had reached the landing, Lizzie’s hands were covering her mouth. “No, no, no!” She was saying despairingly. It’s all gone Jake, everything’s gone. There’s nothing left.”

  Jake quickly scanned the bare rooms but she was merely stating the obvious. The house was just a shell. Someone had been in, stripped it and left nothing behind - no beds, no chairs, no tables and, much more importantly, no computers.

  Lizzie began to cry. The last trace of Aaron had been extinguished and she had nothing left. She felt violated. Robbed.

  Hopeless. Furthermore, the proof that she and Jake needed so badly, the hard evidence that would put Bearing and Khan behind bars, had also gone. Her plans - hers, Jake’s and above all, Aaron’s, which he had worked on for so long, had finally come to nought.

  “It’s over, Jake,” she said, running her hand across his arm as she walked past him and slowly descended the stairs in defeat. She sat down on the bottom step, put her head in her hands and wept.

  Jake walked down and sat beside her, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  “Everything’s gone Jake. There’s nothing of Ronny’s left. Nothing to remember him by.”

  Jake thought for a moment, then took Aaron’s keys out of his pocket. “I know it’s not much,” he said, “but there is these.”

  Lizzie smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes as she took them from him. A bunch of worthless keys and a big, stupid, foot-shaped, yellow key fob. But they were Aaron’s and she appreciated the gesture. “Thanks,” she said.

  Lizzie studied the keys in her hand and winced as she saw a bloody fingerprint on the spongy yellow fob. Aaron’s bloody fingerprint, placed there with his last dying breath.

  The key fob was a peculiar item, totally unlike the kind of thing Aaron would own, much too silly, too off-the-wall. Aaron liked sensible things, serious things, things that made sense. A big, yellow, spongy foot with ‘Beach Life’ stamped on it did not seem to fit with him at all. It had obviously been bought in The Bahamas, but for Aaron it seemed too touristy, too frivolous. But it clearly had been his and so she would treasure it.